


The South Park Prison Experiment

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: AU, Aged-Up Character(s), Gen, Stanford Prison Experiment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9080788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: What drives guards to abuse their inmates? Eric Cartman, a war criminal on trial for crimes against humanity, believes that he can prove his innocence through Randy Marsh's experiment on the dynamics between guards and inmates.





	1. Experimental Protocol

THE SOUTH PARK PRISON EXPERIMENT:

Simulation Study of the Psychology of Imprisonment

Conducted November 2016 in Randy Marsh’s Basement

Stan Marsh looked down at his father’s neatly typed proposal with a small frown on his face. “Dad?”

“ _Stan_?” Randy called back loudly from the kitchen as he walked out with a beer in each hand. “It looks pretty great, doesn’t it? Who know I had the psychologist gene in me?” Randy had been chosen for this study by virtue of being the only scientist in South Park. His knowledge of psychology started and ended with the fact that addiction _is_ heritable, but it skips a generation. He took another gulp of his beer and glanced down at the proposal fondly.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it’s just… Eric Cartman is a war criminal, dad. The whole point of your experiment is to prevent him from punishment.”

The Cartman trials had become infamous in South Park. It wasn’t often that the townspeople had a celebrity of their very own, and the media _loved_ when soldiers committed atrocities at war. Cartman should be rotting in prisons for crimes against humanity. Instead, he was walking the streets as free as a bird while Stan’s father proved that anyone would abuse their power to guard prisoners under the mental stress.

The idea was simple. Randy had explained it more than enough times. Eric Cartman would go to prison if his disposition as a prison guard had led him to commit his many acts of torture but, and this was hopefully a small _but_ , if Randy could prove that the prison environment brought out those traits in the guards, Cartman would be free to go shock people’s balls if he fucking wanted to.

Stan had never had the experience of rooting for a shit sports team, but something told him that he had to hold onto his faith in humanity for just a few days longer, and there would be a sign that he was right.

Randy thrust a stack of papers into Stan’s hands. “Can you post these around town? We’re going to need volunteers for the study.”

Stan glared down at the papers. “I’m not comfortable helping with this experiment, dad.”

Randy ruffled Stan’s hair like he was making an adorable joke. “Of course you aren’t. After you’re done with that, let’s get started building the prison.” He chugged a beer and smashed the can against his forehead, letting it tumble to the Marsh’s carpet before grabbing his proposal and stumbling into another room.

Stan couldn’t put these fliers up. His father might have been dumb enough to buy into Eric Cartman’s scheme, but Stan was definitely not. The boy was a monster, and he was using Stan’s father to bring out that monstrosity in others.

His eyes drifted down the flier in morbid curiosity. Participants were asked to show up for a study on how to _easiest_ adjust prisoners to their new environment, and they were offered heavy cash compensation. Stan’s hands practically shook as he read the blatant lies printed on the flier.

He wished he could warn these boys that the cash compensation would never be worth it if it put Eric Cartman on the streets and, God forbid, in the army again. Stan hadn’t read the full project proposal, and he didn’t really want to.

“Stanley, are you putting up the fliers?”

Stan sighed and grabbed the stack. “Yeah, dad. I got it.”

He tugged his coat on and wandered into the cold, strolling down the street looking for lampposts, tree trunks, and billboards. If Stan had any faith in humanity left, it promised him that he was going to need to advertise a _lot_ to get any idiots to participate in this study.

He paused in front of a yard where a young Canadian boy was rubbing the back of his forehead and glaring at a taller red-haired boy. “I told you – I’m too big for kick the baby!”

The red-haired boy tapped his chin thoughtfully. “They grow up so fast. Okay, I might need to pick you up and punt you.”

The Canadian flipped him off and stormed inside, still rubbing the back of his head. The red-haired boy looked after him sadly. “Wait! Ike! I was just kidding! No more kick the baby!” He caught the closing door with his boot and peered inside the house. “Want to play catch?”

Stan gulped and stuck a flier up on the tree outside the boy’s house. The other boy turned around abruptly at the rustling noise, and Stan offered him an apologetic smile. “Hey. I’m sorry to interrupt. My dad wanted participants for this new study so I’ve just been going around the neighborhood-.”

The other boy stalked over to Stan and grasped the flier. His eyes scanned it quickly, and Stan sent silent prayers that the boy would reject the offer. Instead, his bushy red eyebrows shot up as he saw the compensation. “Jesus. That’s like ten times the price of a GameCube.”

 _Fuck you, God. I see you up there. You fucking suck._ Stan smiled weakly. “Take a number. Maybe I’ll see you there.”

The boy gave him a nod and extended a hand. “Kyle.”

Stan shook his head firmly. _Don’t do the experiment. Don’t do the experiment. Don’t do the experiment._ “Stan.”

Kyle’s eyes flickered back down to the compensation. “I think you’ll be seeing me again.”

Stan struggled to make his grimace look like a smile. “Glad to hear it.”

*

Did no one understand the damage they were doing to the world? Stan rested his chin on his palm and watched without a trace of excitement as his father and Eric Cartman, a man who Stan was sure was not supposed to be a part of the study, sifted through photos and files of every potential participant.

“We have exactly eighteen volunteers, Eric. I don’t think we’re going to have enough after we screen them for psychological disorders or history of abuse,” Randy muttered as he pulled out the first file for an Allen, Bill. “Multiple suspensions for bullying other children and two DUIs.”

Stan shrugged like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Don’t include him in the study?”

Randy placed a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “Stan, you don’t seem to realize how small our sample size is. We’ll just make him an inmate! That’s fair, right?”

Cartman smiled. “That’s totally fair, Mr. Marsh. Really great idea.”

Randy dropped Bill Allen’s file on the first of two piles with a satisfied look on his face. Stan caught Cartman’s eyes as, with a knock of his elbow, he pushed Allen’s file into the stack labeled _Guards_. Stan opened his mouth to object, but his father continued.“Alright, next we have Token Black. He has an impeccable GPA and adds some, ah, diversity to our participants.”

Cartman grimaced. “You can’t give a black person power!” He cried as he looked at the photo of Token paper clipped to the top of his file. “They’ve never had it before! They won’t know what to do with it!”

“Our whole sample can’t be white males in a three-year age group.”

“Fine. Make him a guard. See if I care.” Cartman crossed his arms against his chest and glared down at the file for Black, Token as it was dropped in the pile over Bill’s. He opened his mouth to object again, and Stan shot him a silencing glare. It went ignored. “I just think if we’re going for people in my demographic, we should probably get rid of the mud-.”

Stan elbowed Cartman swiftly in the stomach, and Cartman made a gagging noise. Randy appeared not to notice the scuffle between his son and his “colleague” as he read the file for a Boyett, Trent with eyebrows furrowed. “This boy has gotten a life sentence to Juvenile Hall. I didn’t even know that existed.”

Cartman pushed Stan away. “It probably doesn’t. Make him a guard.”

Stan looked at his father pleadingly. “Dad, you can’t make this boy a guard! He… he set his preschool teacher on fire! Of _course_ he’s going to abuse his prisoners!”

Randy patted Stan’s arm. “Stanley, the guards aren’t _allowed_ to abuse the prisoners. You have nothing to worry about.” He dropped Trent’s file on top of Token’s. “We have Kyle Broflovski next.”

Stan watched as Cartman’s face contorted at the last name, and he caught his mouth forming the word _inmate_ just as Stan shouted, “Guard!”

“Stanley, we haven’t gone through the file yet.”

Stan scoffed. “The files just tell us the criminal records that _you’re_ going to ignore! Kyle Broflovski is going to be a guard.”

Cartman caught the file, his lip curling up viciously as his eyes skimmed Kyle Broflovski’s intake. “I agree. Let’s give his people a win for once.” He met Stan’s eyes, and nervous fluttering in his stomach warned him that Cartman might know a lot more about this Kyle Broflovski than Stan did from their two-minute interaction. Kyle’s file, again, landed on top of the quickly growing stack of guards.

“Donovan, Clyde,” Randy read off the file. “No known history of criminal activity or psychological problems.” He tossed his file on the stack of inmates without asking for opinions. “We need more inmates,” he responded to his son’s incredulous stare. “Harrison, Gary. No criminal activities whatsoever. Stellar academic record. Guard?”

Cartman grabbed the file, his lip curling upwards as he flipped through the pages and scornfully eyed his cheery photo. “I think he’d do better as an inmate,” Cartman responded casually. “As you said, we already have a lot of guards.”

Randy shrugged, and Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Good enough for me!” Randy announced, tossing Gary’s file onto the inmates’. “Malkinson, Scott. Again, no criminal records. He has diabetes, though, so we should be careful with that.”

Stan nodded quickly. “You should probably make him a guard.”

Cartman sniffed. “How will someone with diabetes guard anything? He’ll be busy shooting up his insulin every two minutes!”

“That’s not how diabetes works.”

Randy looked at the file quizzically. “Eric raises a good point, Stan. We don’t want an insulin junkie running our prison.”

Stan looked between the two of them in horror. “ _Broflovski_ has diabetes, and he got to be a guard!”

“So obviously we should split the diabetics,” Cartman responded without a second thought. Randy nodded approvingly.

“You know, son, Eric could teach you a thing or two about sample pools.”

Cartman’s substantial chest puffed out with pride, and Stan waited until his father was pouring over another file to flip him off.

The rest of their deliberations followed the same pattern. Cartman would say something horribly offensive – unless the person had a preexisting criminal record – and Stan would try to make the two groups as even as possible. In the end, Stan lost because Cartman knew a thing or two more about negotiations.

Randy handed the files of inmates to Stan. He winced as he flipped through the names: Donovan, Harrison, Malkinson, McCormick, McDonald, Petuski, Rodriguez, Tweak and Valmer. The study was supposed to begin at noon tomorrow with all participants showing up. Instead, Randy explained, Stan was to take Jimbo and Ned, dressed in police gear, and take all the inmates forcibly from their homes. The South Park police had already okayed the experiment, and Officer Barbrady promised he would be waiting at the precinct to keep order.

The other participants, the guards, would be allowed to sleep in and arrive at noon as promised. Stan looked back with slight horror as he exited. Bill Allen, Trent Boyett, Terrance Mephesto, Craig Tucker, and Damien Thorne all had serious criminal records. Of the inmates, only Fosse McDonald shared anything similar to the horrors those boys had committed. That left Token Black, Kyle Broflovski, Kevin Stoley, and Leopold Stotch to maintain some sort of order in this fucked up experiment.

From the way Cartman smirked whenever he heard Kyle’s name, Stan was beginning to worry that a short interaction in which he watched him kick his brother might not have been enough evidence that Kyle was a good person.

*

“Now, Ned, the key to this is being realistic. We have got to be as component and command as much respect as South Park’s real office force!”

“Mmm… that doesn’t sound hard.”

“This is an important job! Stan, are you ready with the handcuffs?”

Stan stared sadly at nine pairs of handcuffs sitting next to him in the backseat, but he gave a feeble nod. “Yeah, I have them.”

“Great! Now, does anyone know people’s legal rights? It says here… _read legal rights_.”

“Mm… you have the right to remain silent.”

Jimbo slapped Ned on the back as he drove. “Great job, Ned! Do you know any others?”

Stan leaned his head against the window glumly. “Right to an attorney.”

Jimbo banged on the dashboard. “Now we’re talking! Two is good enough, right?”

Stan rubbed his temple like the whole thing was giving him a horrible headache. “Well, considering we aren’t actually arresting them.”

“Right again, Stan! And to think your dad calls you the stupid one,” Jimbo remarked jovially as he drove their fake police car throughout town. “Who are we starting with?”

Stan sat up straighter. “Wait, what does he call me?”

“McCormick and McDonald live a few blocks apart. Randy said to get McCormick first,” Ned droned, holding out a map to Jimbo. Jimbo needlessly pressed on the gas and sped through the streets of South Park to the dilapidated neighborhood that Stan had never been allowed to hang out in.

Stan pressed his face to the window. “You don’t think any of these used needles are going to puncture the tires, do you?”

“Nah, this baby can drive on anything!” Jimbo declared, patting his dashboard fondly. He pulled up in front of a house that looked like it was about to fall down. “McCormick first.”

Stan sighed and passed a pair of handcuffs to Jimbo. At his and Ned’s lead, he pulled his hat off and put a policeman’s hat on instead. Stan was about to step out of the car when Jimbo pressed a button, and a siren Stan had no idea they owned started to wail.

“Jimbo, you don’t do that outside the house!” Stan snapped, but it was too late. A bottle shattered behind him, and he looked through the other window to see a couple tossing what looked like meth lab equipment over into their neighbor’s yard. Many families drew their blinds, and the locking of doors was so synchronous, Stan could swear he heard them as a collective _click_. “I don’t think a siren was a great idea in this part of town.”

“A siren is always a great idea!”

A tall blonde boy with a shorter girl with light brown hair opened the door in curiosity. Stan swung his legs out of the car, and McCormick gave him a look of complete understanding. He must have remembered Stan’s face from the interviews. Stan _knew_ he shouldn’t have come on this mission.

“Karen, go back inside,” the boy said softly, ushering his sister through the door. She clung to the frame, watching in horror as Jimbo grabbed her brother and forced him spread eagle against the car.

The girl ran forward, grabbing a bat from the doorway. “You can’t do that! Get away from him!”

Stan stepped out of the car and held his hands up in surrender. “Nothing is going to happen to your brother. I promise.”

“As long as he follows the letter of the law,” Jimbo said in a harsh voice. Ned was attempting to search the inmate with only one arm as Jimbo cuffed him, and Stan was not in any mood to help the man with his search. He liked this inmate. He seemed like a good brother with good spirits as he managed to find the humor in getting a pat down from a man with one arm. “You have the right to remain silent! You have the right to an attorney!”

McCormick turned his head towards Jimbo and grinned as he held out his hands to be cuffed. “I think I have more than that.”

“We’ll check at the precinct!” Jimbo pulled out a piece of paper and cleared his throat. Neighbors were beginning to peak out of the windows once they knew the police car wasn’t for them. “Kenneth McCormick,” he announced in a voice loud enough for the neighbors to hear, “You are under arrest for armed robbery. Please step into the vehicle.”

“Kenny. Kenny McCormick,” Kenny corrected as he slid into the back seat. Stan, at a loss of where to go, moved into the spot next to him. He watched with a heavy heart as Kenny stared at his little sister standing in their driveway with a useless bat, watching her brother getting taken away to taunts of _I’m white trash, and I’m in trouble!_ from his neighbors.

They were not so lucky on McDonald’s street. Kenny’s street only had people trying to hide their crimes. Fosse’s street had people blaming each other for ratting them out. Stan stood alert as he heard a gunshot in the distance, and Jimbo rushed him out of the car to get Fosse McDonald as fast as possible.

As the cuffs were fixed around his wrists, Stan looked up to see two of his neighbors exchanging a ten-dollar bill. Jimbo pushed Fosse into the car quickly with a short command to sit in the middle, and Stan squeezed in next to him as they tore off to the precinct with sirens wailing.

The car pulled up outside the police station, and Jimbo and Ned led the two inmates into the prison to be kept in a holding cell until someone was available for their booking. Stan felt a lump rising in his throat as he saw Kenny proudly lift his chin and jerk his hands out of Ned’s single-handed grasp so he could walk into the cell on his own.

The other streets were not nearly as eventful. Clyde Donovan’s parents simply scolded him for robbery as he tried to explain he was a participant in the study. Gary Harrison’s parents seemed delighted that their son was helping out. DogPoo Petuski, a boy who was psychologically normal aside from his name, simply allowed Stan to lead him out of his room quietly.

It was Scott Malkinson who really broke Stan’s heart. The boy must have heard the sirens wailing and realized what that meant for him because he was already shaking by the time he got downstairs to meet them. Before he had the chance to be searched, he thrust a bottle of insulin into Stan’s hand. With pleading eyes, he begged, “Please don’t let them take this away from me.”

“I… I promise,” Stan said, completely dumbfounded by the idea that someone _would_ take away a diabetic boy’s insulin.

At the Tweak residence, Stan and Jimbo were met downstairs by his parents, an exceptionally calm pair that launched into metaphors at any moment. Jimbo listened to the father’s rambling for a few minutes before interrupting, “Is your son here?”

The wife smiled. “Oh, yes. Tweek! Your friends are here to play with you!”

“What?” A voice screeched from upstairs, and there was the sound of boots pounding on the ground as a frazzled boy with blonde hair sticking in every direction appeared next to his parents. He took one look at the cop car and shrank away. “No way, man! I’m not going in that thing!”

“Tweek, calm down. Have some coffee.”

Jimbo shook his head. “No coffee where he’s going.”

Tweek looked up in horror, and Stan, fighting every urge to end this study immediately, pushed Tweek against the car for his search and cuffing. The boy was shaking so much Stan could barely get the key into the handcuffs, but eventually Tweek Tweak was dropped in a holding cell.

Other parents were equally supportive. The Valmers actually helped Jimbo and Ned get their son into his crutches so he could be brought downstairs, and they stood with Jimbo for a few minutes, debating how best to cuff a boy who used crutches. In the end, Stan just said “fuck it” and pushed Valmer into the back of the car.

“Now, Stanley, you aren’t following protocol,” Jimbo warned as they drove away from the police station. There was only one more inmate to pick up, and Stan couldn’t be happier. It was reaching 11 am, and it must have been heartbreaking for David Rodriguez to get so close to the noon deadline without being told he was an inmate.

Then again, none of them _knew_ they were going to be arrested.

David, like DogPoo, played along like a champ. He even turned the other cheek when a neighbor remarked, “I told you they were all criminals” and climbed into the back of the car next to Stan. They were silent for the entire trip back to the precinct, and David obligingly climbed out of the car and entered the police station without question.

The inmates had been ordered by Officer Barbrady to remain silent so they were, of course, whispering to each other as quickly as their lips could move. Tweek Tweak rocked back and forth in a corner with Donovan and McCormick on either side of him, attempting to calm him down.

With David in the cell, it was time to begin the experiment.

*

Lots of children were asked to do chores. Stan couldn’t count how many times his father had wailed from the other room, checking whether or not he had mowed the lawn or taken out the trash. He did not think the majority of children were sent down to their garage basement and told nothing but “make it look like a prison”.

Stan stared around at the boxes speculatively. This didn’t seem like it was going to be easy. He should probably start by moving out all the Christmas decorations his mom had stored down here.

There was a knock at the top of the stairs, and, without welcome, Eric Cartman lumbered down the steps. “I’m here to help,” he grunted like Stan could _ever_ want help from the worst man in the world.

“I think I’ve got it.”

Cartman grinned. “Really? How many prisons have you stayed in?” Stan was quiet. “In fact, we brought a friend to help make it really realistic.” A dark-haired boy with cuffs and a white mask over his face was led down the stairs. “This is Josh Meyers. He’s our, um, prison consultant.”

“Criminal,” Stan corrected.

Josh fixed his penetrating stare on Stan. “Tell me, Stan, does your father get drunk and go into the wrong room by accident?” He asked in a voice so high it sounded sharp.

Stan screwed up his nose. “No, he doesn’t. Who the fuck is this kid, Cartman?”

“I’ll have you know he’s toilet papered more houses in a day than you would have in your whole life.”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never toilet papered a house. That’s pretty fucking stupid, dude.”

Cartman and Josh stood in the middle of the basement. Cartman gave Stan a small sign with a flick of his wrist to keep moving out boxes, and Stan made an angry noise in the back of his throat before stalking upstairs with a box of tree ornaments.

By the time Stan got back, they were hard at work. “Stan, do you have any bathrooms?” Cartman asked without looking up. He and Josh were both hammering plywood boards across the two ends of the basement, and Stan didn’t want to ask where Josh’s handcuffs had gone.

“In our garage basement? No.”

Cartman frowned. “Could you be a dear and fetch me six buckets?”

“You’re kidding.”

Cartman pinched Stan’s cheek. “Not even a little.”

Stan tried to ignore the feelings of nausea as he bought the requested buckets. To their credit, Cartman and Josh worked fast. Three cages had been set up with steel bars and cell numbers, videotapes buzzed warningly from the corner, and the two of them stood with some interest in front of the tiny closet that housed the Marsh family’s electrical cords.

“What are you doing?” Stan asked loudly, effectively catching Cartman’s attention with a wolfish grin.

“Solitary confinement has to be _somewhere_ , Stan.”

“Solitary confinement?”

“Jesus tap-dancing Christ,” Cartman grinned and glanced at Josh with something akin to mirth in his eyes. “Every prison needs solitary confinement, Stan.”

“Well, does it have to be our electrical closet?”

“ _Does it have to be our electrical closet_?” Cartman repeated in a mocking voice. “Point out another fucking closet, and maybe we’ll use that!”

Stan glanced at the bleak room with a heavy heart. The little light that drifted in through the top windows had been boarded up, the clock had disappeared, the cages seemed surprisingly sturdy for what he thought was Ikea-brand prisoner cages, and the rest of the basement seemed comfortable enough for the guards to sit outside their cages. In retrospect, Stan had no idea why his father had bought a garage with _such_ a big basement, but it was paying off apparently.

“Can they not have light?” Stan asked weakly. He imagined those nine names – nine fucking strangers – withering up and dying without natural light streaming in.

Cartman smiled. “That would show them the time, wouldn’t it? You clearly haven’t been to prison enough.”

“I’ve never been to prison.”

Cartman looked around at his work proudly, recuffing Josh before the boy tried to make a run for it. “You’re in one now,” he reported forebodingly. “Get ready. You won’t be able to handle it with that stomach of yours.”

As he exited, Cartman gave Stan a jab in the stomach, and Stan doubled forward to vomit on the ground. Cartman did nothing but call, “Clean it up!” through an intercom Stan hadn’t even seen as he brought Josh upstairs.

Stan gulped, now alone downstairs in a prison of his own creation.

For some reason he thought people always meant that metaphorically.

*

The inmates’ booking procedures would be handled exclusively by Jimbo and Ned. Stan had apparently not seemed formidable enough and was too recognizable a face for the inmates to properly fear him.

Randy seemed annoyed when Stan arrived at their “prison” at 11:59 am. “Jimbo said you didn’t scare the inmates enough,” he said accusingly.

Stan rolled his eyes. “No, dad. I didn’t. They were plenty scared on their own.”

“Apparently they weren’t if you got sent back here,” Cartman grunted from his spot on the only chair available, a window seat that was meant to fit two comfortably but appeared to be a squeeze for his ample size.

Randy nodded. “Did you even wear the sunglasses?”

“No! God, dad, I promise they were scared!”

“It was probably because of Jimbo and Ned,” Randy muttered, pacing the makeshift prison as he waited for the nine guards to arrive. At 12:01, he finally opened the door to find all of them waiting outside. “You were supposed to come inside.”

“Fucking told you so,” Tucker grumbled as he barged in. The guards seemed to have formed cliques. Boyett was already flanked by Bill Allen and Terrance Mephesto, and Craig Tucker was quickly followed by Token Black into the prison. A dark-haired boy with fiery eyes wandered in by himself, shooting Stan a look that made his blood freeze.

Finally, the boy Stan had met, Kyle Broflovski, wandered through the doors, looking as nervous as if he hadn’t realized that, with only eight other boys in the room, he was probably one of the guards.

Cartman squeezed himself out of the chair. “You boys are the guards!” He announced triumphantly like they had won the lottery. Randy shot him a dirty look, and Stan was pretty sure Eric Cartman was _not_ supposed to be a member of this study.

A look at Kyle told Stan that this hadn’t calmed his nerves whatsoever. Stan was slightly confused. He _had_ won the experimental lottery. Stotch and Stoley both breathed out sighs of relief, and Boyett smirked at his cronies. The participants were beginning to show nervous hopefulness in response to Eric’s announcement, and Randy hastily took over, explaining their job as guards in this experiment.

It didn’t take very long to explain. They were guards. They should do whatever they thought was best to keep control – within limits. They worked eight-hour shifts, wore proper uniform including sunglasses (which Stan had, much to Randy’s annoyance, left out of his policeman costume), and Randy would be their warden. Many of the newly appointed guards were beginning to show genuine excitement.

Kyle Broflovski shoved a hand in the air in annoyance while Bill, Terrance, and Trent were already joking together about the experiment. “What does “within limits” mean?”

Randy looked confused. “Well, within limits, you know? Stay in them. Those limits.”

Kyle glared at him. “The thing about “within limits” is that my limits set what I think limits are. What can and can’t we do?”

“You do what you think is right. Within limits.”

Kyle was getting increasingly frustrated. Stan was glad someone had brought up the problem; his father had told him the plan, and he’d presented an identical criticism only to be ignored. “What about violence?”

Randy sighed. This was a grey area that he was hoping “within limits” would leave the guards to decide for themselves. After all, there were limits of violence. If he directly allowed violence, critics would think the study was biased so the guards became brutes. If he banned it, no one would commit levels of torture that could be applied to Eric’s trial.

“No violence,” Stan said firmly. “Maintain control however you want _except_ with violence.”

“Wanna leave us with any suggestions?” Another guard, Trent Boyett, growled as Randy shuffled away to retrieve eight identical uniforms. He distributed the uniforms among the guards without responding before giving Trent a mumbled repeat of the instructions he’d given before.

Craig held up the khaki uniform disdainfully. “Did you design this?” he asked Eric with clear accusation in his voice.

“Just put it on!”

Craig was about to tug his shirt over his head when Randy cleared his throat loudly to grab his attention. He paused undressing to look over at Randy with a bored look that delusional teachers had mistaken for respect over the years.

“You actually won’t be having the first shift. Broflovski, Black, Mephesto. Put on your uniforms. “I will keep you updated on the shift schedule, but you are considered on call at all times.”

Kyle groaned, unbuttoning his shirt automatically. The precedent had been set. He wasn’t going to go get changed in the bathroom now. He looked around for “Black and Mephesto” to exchange understanding eye rolls or something else lame he hadn’t planned out yet, but he realized he had no idea who those boys were. He made eye contact with another participant and smiled weakly, hoping he wasn’t jumping to conclusions by assuming he was Black.

Other participants had started to gather their things and leave when Stan tapped on his father’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Randy’s eyes widened, and he nodded quickly in agreement. “Wait. Everyone in uniforms. We’re doing intake together.”

That was going to be much faster. Randy wouldn’t have to do _shit_. The other guards, already looking angry that Randy was cutting into their time off, pulled on the uniforms without vocal complaint.

Randy shooed Cartman out of the room and left Stan to supervise the guards as he strolled out to the driveway to meet the first inmate. The experiment was ready to begin, and Randy was sure he was about to make his career.

That, or tarnish it forever by being the man who defended Eric Cartman.


	2. Day One

“God, I could not deal with him for a second longer,” Kenny breathed in relief as Clyde Donovan was escorted out of their cells. This left Kenny and Tweek, ironically one of the only inmates to avoid having a breakdown due to an apparently constant state of paranoia and panic. Kenny had, to his embarrassment, cried _a little bit_ when Jimbo pulled his orange parka off him forcibly.

If he was worse at keeping it together than Tweek, he would never survive this study. Tweek was currently rocking back and forth in the corner of their holding cells muttering something about someone being out to get him. Kenny had tried to make polite conversation, and Tweek had answered most questions in nervous squeaks.

Jimbo and Ned, wearing shades that made Kenny grin, appeared at their holding cell. Ned grabbed Tweek by the cuff of his shirt, and Jimbo fastened a blindfold tightly around his eyes. Tweek, squeaking like an angry hamster, was pulled out of the cell with nothing but a warning, “You’re next” to Kenny.

He could have guessed he was next.

Kenny, at a loss for ways to spend the time, busied himself with clinking his handcuffs against the bars off the holding cell and making spooky noises until Officer Barbrady wandered off in search of the ghost. Maybe he _would_ survive this experiment.

Jimbo and Ned reappeared, and Kenny, the last inmate left, just sighed in resignation as a blindfold was fastened around his eyes. He purposefully failed to walk in a straight line so Jimbo would stub his toe and trip over objects in their path, and by the time Kenny was thrust in front of a camera and had the blindfold ripped off, he looked fairly pissed.

Kenny smiled charmingly for his mug shot, and Jimbo and Ned conversed privately about whether or not that was allowed. In the end, Jimbo led Kenny over to a table to have his finger prints taken, muttering something along the lines of, “Have fun now, kid.”

“I am,” Kenny responded without a second thought as he pressed his thumbs down. This was just a routine booking. He may have never been arrested, but his brother essentially _lived_ in jail. If he lived at home, they probably wouldn’t have enough money to feed the family. It was a blessing and a curse (for Kevin).

Ned droned out Kenny’s formal rights as Kenny sat obediently at the table, the large smirk unable to be hidden from his face. “I’m glad you learned the other ones.”

Neither Ned nor Jimbo cracked a grin, and by the time Kenny had to give his personal information, he had lost most of his good humor. Jokes weren’t fun unless there were people around to appreciate them.

Kenny sighed as Jimbo flipped over the sheet to check for more questions before glancing up at Kenny. He sat stock still, waiting for the shock he knew was coming, before a blindfold was pulled over his eyes once again, and he was forced out of the prison into someone’s car.

Everything was completely black for a period of time Kenny had no estimation of, but when the car stopped and Kenny was pulled outside the vehicle, he heard an old man grunt, “Well that’s just the darnedest thing. Jimbo, what are you up to now?”

Jimbo must have silenced him somehow because Kenny didn’t hear a reply as the sound of a garage door slowly lifting up automatically slowly creaked to the top, and he was forced down a flight of stairs. In the dingy basement of the garage, the blindfold was ripped off, and Kenny blinked a few times to adjust to the _slight_ increase in light.

Kenny looked around him in surprise. The eight boys he had spent hours in the holding cell with were all naked with hands gripping the bars of their cells. Other boys were at various points in their-.

His thoughts were stopped abruptly by a boy in a khaki uniform with a Billy Club, sunglasses and whistle around his neck was thrust forward. On most of the guards, this looked fairly foreboding. On this guard, it looked like a poorly chosen Halloween costume from _Cool Hand Luke_. Randy Marsh waited by the foot of the stairs with his hand on the boy’s shoulder and thrust him forward to Kenny.

“Stotch, you take this one.”

Kenny and Stotch both stiffened at the sound of screaming from the line of prisoners. Kenny looked around wildly, his eyes narrowing as he saw the black guard covering Scott Malkinson in some sort of spray. Kenny sucked in a deep breath. Scott had been the first inmate to be taken away.

Both his and the guard’s eyes flickered down to a razor and bottle of, what Kenny assumed, was the same spray, and the guard’s lip quivered like his heart was about to break if he had to use any of it.

Kenny looked around at the other inmates and, taking pity on the poor guard, started stripping his clothes off. The guard stumbled back a few paces, and Kenny’s face contorted into a pained smirk. “I felt overdressed.”

The guard was able to stutter out a weak “thank you” before the boy next to him – the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome who bore a shocking resemblance to Randy Marsh’s son – glanced over with a snide look on his face. “Can’t even strip your own prisoner, Butters?” His face snapped to Kenny, but the glasses shielded any sign of emotion. “Who are you?”

Kenny raised an eyebrow. “Kenny?”

“Wrong.” Tall, dark, and mean lifted his chin to make him look even more imposing. “You’re Inmate 13 from now on, got it?”

“13. Perfect,” Kenny responded automatically, glancing at the cowering figure in front of the other guard. His eyebrows shot up as the recognized the half-bald, half-explosively blonde boy as Tweek Tweak, the second-to-last boy to leave their holding cell. “Tweek?”

Tweek looked up with terror written all over his face. “It’s 15.”

“Good boy,” the guard praised before pressing the razor _hard_ against Tweek’s scalp and eliciting only a small squeak. “You’re good at this.”

Butters leaned over to Kenny to whisper, “That’s Craig Tucker. He’s one of the nicer guards. I think.”

“I guessed as much,” Kenny responded dryly.

Randy stopped, head over Butters’ shoulder. “What’s taking so long, Stotch?”

Butters looked at Kenny empathetically. “Prisoner 13 wasn’t cooperative, sir!” He mouthed a quick _sorry_ in Kenny’s direction, and Kenny’s lip twisted up at Randy’s glare.

“Won’t happen again, sir.”

Randy looked over the two of them suspiciously before nodding. “Alright. See that it doesn’t.” He strolled back down to the opposite end of the garage, and Kenny watched with a smirk as Butters scrambled to grab the razor before Craig reached over to grasp his hand and force it into the correct position.

“Um… okay… I’m gonna shave you now,” Butters declared weakly as he stared at the whirring razor like it were a murder weapon. He leaned in and whispered, “The guards said it hurts more the harder I press so just guide my hand.” He grabbed Kenny’s hand and put his own, holding the razor, underneath it.

Kenny’s eyes flickered back to Tweek and Craig, who appeared to find nothing funnier than scaring Tweek, and breathed out a sigh of relief. What had he done in a past life to warrant the nice guard? Very slowly, Butters let him guide the razor over his shaggy blonde hair until he was as bald as all the other inmates.

Butters stared down at the lost locks on the floor with a little frown on his face. Before he had the chance to mourn the hair, Butters and Kenny’s necks snapped to look at Tweek, who had started screeching as Craig aimed a spray bottle at his body. Craig forced a hand against Tweek’s mouth to muffle the noise and gave Butters a nod. “As you were,” he said calmly before giving Tweek a squirt in the face without warning.

Butters looked at the spray bottle helplessly. Tentatively, he gave Kenny a squirt on his arm, and Kenny grimaced. “Does it hurt?”

Kenny had to clench his teeth to keep from snapping at the poor, innocent guard. “No, it’s fine.”

“It’s, um, delousing spray. Just so you don’t track in germs, you know?” Butters tried to explain as he sprayed down Kenny’s chest and legs. Kenny had to bite his bottom lip and grip the prison bars behind him to keep from yelling out as the other prisoners had, but he felt bad letting Butters know that he was essentially spreading poison on his skin. “Okay, 13. You can turn around.”

Kenny would have sighed in relief that he could finally let his facial expressions match the torture of this delousing spray if he had any relief at all. Butters appeared to be getting it done as fast as possible because he finished at around the same time as Craig and Tweek. Tweek was gripping the iron bars so tightly his knuckles were white, and Craig seemed to find this infinitely amusing.

He scratched underneath Tweek’s chin affectionately, and Tweek sank back into the bars. “Don’t worry – the worst is over. We just have to get you dressed. Do you have any personal possessions on you?”

“He’s naked,” Kenny spat from next to Tweek.

Craig turned slowly to stare at Kenny through his dark shades. “15 can answer for himself. Do you have any personal possessions on you?”

Tweek shook his head fearfully, and Craig grinned as he thrust a smock into his arms. Tweek shook it out, scrambling to cover himself up. The smock had a large 15 on the front, and no underwear had been offered. As if Craig had read his mind, he smiled and responded, “That’s all there is.”

Butters’ lips parted in pity, and Kenny obligingly slipped the gown over his own head. “Well, why they gotta wear dresses?”

“Smocks,” Kenny corrected, earning a sharp look from Craig.

Craig glanced back at Tweek with a malicious grin. “It’s cute. Let’s get you shackled, okay?”

From Craig’s other side, a third guard with a unibrow and whimpering Scott Malkinson looked over at the four of them. “Feels good not to be on the receiving end of that, huh?”

“I’ve never been arrested,” Craig corrected in a hurt voice.

Craig knelt at Tweek’s feet and fastened a heavy metal chain around his right ankle. Tweek attempted to lift and set down his leg again and again, frowning at the clanging of the chains hitting each other. “I startle easily.”

“Do I look like I care?”

“You don’t really look like anything,” Kenny interjected. “I think it’s the glasses.”

Tweek looked at Kenny in horror for speaking out of turn, and Craig tossed a pair of rubber sandals at Tweek’s feet without even looking at him. “What did you say, 13?” He barked out harshly, drawing himself up to his full height.

Oh, so that was why Tweek was so scared of him.

“I said-.”

“Inmate 13 is in my custody,” Butters interrupted in a more authoritative voice than Kenny could ever imagine coming out of him. “Focus on your own prisoner, and I’ll focus on mine.”

Craig’s head turned very slowly to look Butters over. “And I’m sure you’re striking fear into his heart. I saw you let him shave-.”

“ _Prisoner 13 is in my custody_ ,” Butters repeated in a firmer voice. “Mr. Marsh will be awful sore at you if he comes over here and sees you ignoring 15.”

“Who’s ignoring their inmate?” Randy’s voice boomed from the other side of the basement, and Craig flipped Butters off quickly before turning back to Tweek and grabbing him by the shoulder.

Kenny watched with mild admiration as Butters struggled to fasten the chain around his ankle. He almost laughed as Butters managed to get his own hand stuck against Kenny’s foot.

“Aw, hamburgers,” Butters cussed under his breath as he undid his hard work to try again. Finally, the shackle was on his right ankle, and Butters threw down a pair of rubber sandals.

Randy clearing his throat boomed out of the intercom, and Butters automatically reached for Kenny’s arm to calm him down. “It’s not going to be that bad,” Butters murmured under his breath. Kenny highly doubted that, but if Kevin could survive prison, he could certainly survive a prison study.

“All guards besides Black, Broflovski, and Mephesto are excused,” Randy’s voice announced. “Could the remaining guards show the prisoners to their rooms?”

Craig immediately stepped back from Tweek with a large smile, already pulling his sunglasses off. He really was tall, dark, handsome, and mean. Butters also gave Kenny’s arm a small pat before following Craig up the stairs eagerly.

With the basement emptied out, Kenny finally had a look at the other prisoners. Thank _God_ he got Butters. Most of the other prisoners had skin that was red and raw from the delousing spray, and small cuts had sprung up on their newly shaved foreheads. In their uniforms, Unibrow, Red Head, and Black Guy hung behind. Unibrow kept his hand on his nightstick although there was almost no chance he would ever need it.

Kenny looked around him. “Wow. I wonder where the beds are,” he remarked dryly as they stared at the three cages. Each cage had exactly enough space for three cots and not an inch more. Every inmate snapped their head in Kenny’s direction to glare at him for his sarcasm, and he decided it was time to shut up.

This was game on, he supposed.

“Black,” the voice boomed again. “Can you take 13, 15, and 16 to their cell? Broflovski – 12, 17, and 19. Mephesto – 14, 18, and 20.”

“God dammit! I got the cripple again!” Unibrow – hereafter, Mephesto – cursed before grabbing a uselessly shackled Jimmy Valmer and forcing him into a cage.

Kenny, at risk of alienating the other prisoners, didn’t make any more jokes, but he was happy to see that 15 turned out to be Tweek Tweak. He would have preferred David, but it was good enough. The third boy was led over by the black guard and shoved into line with the three of them. Kenny wanted to say his name was Gary, but, to be fair, Kenny wanted to say a lot of things.

With the prisoners all obediently outside their cells, Randy paced back and forth in front of them. “You are to keep silent at all times. The guards will run checks to make sure you don’t escape. There are buckets in your cells until we see if you earn bathroom privileges, got it?” Kenny glanced back at his cell. For the life of him, he couldn’t see any space for even one bucket, but he nodded like all the other inmates did. “Good.” He gave the guards a brisk nod. “There’s a game on right now so I’ll be busy for the next couple hours, but call me if you need me.”

With that, Randy dropped a Broncos helmet with two beers on each side on his head and marched up the stairs.

Kenny, to his dismay, was stuck with the cot that required clambering over the other two. Tweek couldn’t be trapped into small places without panicking, and, honestly, Kenny was pretty sure the piss bucket was under Gary's bed.

“Dude, I am so sorry about Craig,” Kenny whispered across Gary's bed to Tweek, who looked horrified that Kenny had spoken.

He reached up instinctively to tug on his hair, finding nothing there. “They’re listening to us, man,” he hissed back. “They said be quiet.”

Kenny turned back to the three guards who had gathered in the corner to discuss their duties and rolled his eyes. “Who is keeping watch on us, Tweek?”

“15.”

“Your name is Tweek.”

Tweek fearfully pointed upwards, and Kenny followed with his eyes to see a small camera recording them in the corner of their cells. Apparently Tweek’s constant paranoia _was_ good for something.

Kenny flipped off the camera and dropped down on his cot. He wasn’t tired, but he was ready for this day to fucking end. He could hear David’s voice whispering something furtively in another cell until the red-haired guard snapped at him.

The same pattern followed throughout the night. The prisoners would push at the rules, and the guards would pretend to care. Even when Tweek started rocking back and forth on his cot and squeaking uncontrollably, the black guard just gave their metal bars a reverberating bang with his nightstick and ignored him.

He wasn’t sure how long it took, but eventually Kenny fell asleep. He was one of the lucky ones – this cot was not less comfortable than the bed he slept in every night. He just usually didn’t have to listen to Gary's snoring or Tweek’s whimpering as he slept. He only had thirteen more days of this shit, then he was going to get _paid_.

It wasn’t like the guards had any real authority anyway.

Kenny was jolted awake twice during the night as the metal shackle on his ankle kept banging into his free ankle harshly. The second time it happened, he blinked his eyes open to search for a pillow to put between his feet and realized he hadn't even been given a pillow to put beneath his head. Sighing deeply, Kenny stretched his legs apart and fell back into an uncomfortable sleep.

In complete darkness, Kenny was woken up abruptly by the sound of three whistles being blown madly into all of their cells. Tweek awoke with a yelp, and Kenny blearily blinked his eyes open.

“We’re doing count,” the red-haired one (Broflovski?) announced. “Everyone outside your cells.”

“Is it morning?” Gary mumbled as Kenny gave him a push outside.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?”

“We said no talking!” Another guard snapped, and Tweek, Gary, and Kenny obediently filed out of their cell. The other inmates had already been woken up, and the nine of them stood in a line as the guards eyed them mistrustfully.

Unibrow snatched a piece of paper and started reading names off it. “12.”

“Here!” A boy with a smudged face a few cells down responded.

The guard stopped walking in front of him. “Here, what?”

“Um, here, sir!”

He nodded. “You may refer to me as “sir” or “Mr. Mephesto”, got it?”

Kenny couldn’t help it. His sense of humor had gotten him into trouble before, but he almost bit his tongue in his effort not to blurt out, “So we can’t call you Unibrow?”

Mephesto rounded on Kenny. “What did you say?”

Tweek and Gary both edged a few inches away, and Kenny winced. He knew it was a bad idea to try to make a joke. His censor was clearly still asleep. “Nothing, _sir_ ,” he spat.

Mephesto stared at him for a few moments longer, clearly debating what to do, when the black guard snatched the paper out of his hand. “13,” he called.

Kenny raised a hand, and the guard turned to look at him. “Yes?”

“Well, I’m 13.”

Mephesto shifted forward like knowing Kenny’s number was of utmost importance for when the _real_ guards arrived, but the new guard seemed equally strict if not quite as harsh. “That is not an answer.”

“It is. I’m 13.” Kenny tried to stare the guard down, but it was impossible with those sunglasses. “Sir,” he added weakly.

Mephesto muttered something to the red-haired guard that made Tweek cringe, but it was out of Kenny’s earshot. Honestly, this was pretty annoying. Kenny did not like being woken up. He liked sunlight. He liked knowing what time it was. Was that bad enough that he couldn’t handle two weeks for more money than he’d seen in his life?

He really hoped not.


	3. Day Two

“Kenny, I’m really sorry about what happened.”

Kenny glanced up from where he was fiddling with his unappetizing meal to narrow his eyes at Tweek. “I think you’re looking for 13. I also don’t think he’s talking to you.” He glared back down at the food, and David gave Tweek a sympathetic _you tried_ smile.

“Cleaning Clyde’s colostomy bag was totally out of-.”

“Tweek, will you _stop_ pretending that you’re brave enough to use our real names?” Kenny snapped.

David tried to hide his laughter behind his hand. “He probably just doesn’t remember Clyde’s number.”

Kenny and David both sniggered into their trays until Trent Boyett placed himself directly behind Kenny, and David stopped laughing. Tweek’s eyes snapped to Kenny, but he was able to pick up on social cues faster than Tweek ever could. He was already somberly eating his stale sandwich, cross-legged on the garage floor, by the time Tweek opened his mouth to warn Kenny.

“What’s so funny, 13?” Trent snapped, and Tweek was surprised to see Kenny bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing. “The bucket in cell two is going to need to be cleaned out soon. I’ll keep this in mind.”

A big part of Tweek said joining Kenny and David wasn’t a good idea. Not only did he clearly not belong with the two of them, but they were going to _get him in trouble_. Kenny, with his back to Boyett, just rolled his eyes, and David waited patiently for him to go bully new inmates.

“How many people could have taken a shit? Jesus! It’s our second day here!” Kenny threw down his sandwich and stared at it in disgust. “I’m putting Clyde on a hunger strike if they ever make me do _that_ again.”

David looked around quickly for a sign of Kevin Stoley, Bill Allen, or Trent Boyett, but they had all busied themselves tormenting other inmates (or, in Kevin’s case, following the other two and struggling to put on a tough face). “Look, dude, they don’t have _any_ real power. Don’t let them hold what they don’t have over you.”

Tweek shook his head. “I think that we should be respectful of Mr. Marsh’s choices!” He choked out.

Kenny looked at him with deadened eyes. “I think the cowards are all eating over there,” he said with a prod to Tweek’s ribs.

“All I’m saying is… how hard can it be to take away something they never had?” David asked slowly.

A smile grew across Kenny’s face. “Makes sense.” A yelp sounded from Gary Harrison, a cellmate of Tweek and Kenny’s, as Bill Allen’s hand “slipped” on his shoulder and pushed his face into a tray of black beans.

“That was amateur work,” Boyett commented before moving along.

 Kenny and David exchanged grins. “Don’t you love the smell of rebellion in the morning, Tweek?”

“I want coff- wait, no! _No_! That’s a really bad idea!”

*

Was the whole point of this experiment giving Tweek a gigantic inferiority complex to Kenny? Kenny sat on Gary’s cot and carefully used his own smock to help clean the boy’s face off, and Tweek just lingered in the corner, waiting for count or sleep or death or the study to end.

He perked up as Kevin Stoley’s voice called, “Everyone out for count!” but Kenny held a finger to his lips and shook his head at Tweek. As carefully as he could, he maneuvered across Gary’s cot without it squeaking and landed in a tiny bit of floor space between his and Tweek’s bed. Gary, too, looked upset at not going out for count immediately, but he waited patiently to see what Kenny was going to do while Tweek shook at astounding frequencies.

“Get off,” Kenny hissed in Tweek’s ear, and Tweek immediately clambered onto Gary’s bed. “Gary? A little help?”

Gary glanced out the cell with some worry as Boyett realized only three of the inmates had come out for count. “Yeah, but we have to act fast.”

“Horizontal against the door.”

Tweek just did his best to stay out of their way as Gary and Kenny flipped their cots around to barricade themselves in the cell. They had just finished getting Tweek’s bed in position when Bill Allen was outside, rattling the bars of their cage angrily.

“Get out now!”

“Why don’t you _make_ me?” Gary responded in a voice much tougher than Tweek had expected from that golden-haired angel.

Kenny’s face exploded in a grin as he heard more taunts coming from David’s cell, all aimed scathingly at Trent Boyett. “You’ll be sorry when Boyett and Mr. Marsh get here.”

“Tweek would make a better guard than you,” Kenny retorted, jerking his head back at the cowering Tweek.

“My _mom_ would make a better guard than you.”

Tweek couldn’t let Gary be the one to help Kenny. He had thought they were prison friends. Everyone said the friends you made on the inside were your real friends! As Trent approached, Tweek leapt to his feet and joined Gary and Kenny where they stood on the cots. “Fucking Butters Stotch makes a better guard than you,” Tweek snapped.

Kenny looked over his shoulder in surprise, but he was quickly smiling again when he realized Tweek had joined in.

“Open the door, 15,” Boyett yelled in a voice that would ordinarily have made Tweek piss his pants. Luckily for Tweek, they hadn’t given him pants, and he needed some experience being the hero.

Channeling Kenny as best he could, Tweek met Trent Boyett’s eyes unwaveringly and deliberately grabbed the chest of his smock in his fist and ripped the number off. “My. Name. Is. Tweek.”

Kenny laughed like Tweek had just done a trick and ripped the number off his smock. He blew the extra fabric off his hand into Trent’s face, and Trent swatted it to the ground angrily. “You’ll regret this when the night shift gets here.”

“I can’t imagine any shift being _less_ scary than yours,” Kenny snapped back. “It’s funny because you _are_ a criminal, aren’t you, Trent? Enjoy your two weeks on that side of the bars because that’s how the rest of us are _spending our lives_.”

The guards huddled up, but no master plan came. Boyett grabbed the three inmates who had not taken part in the rebellion and dragged them up the stairs of the garage. Gary cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Are you sure there’s space for them? Where is Randy keeping his car?”

Kenny cracked up. “Yeah, dude, we know we’re in a garage.”

Kevin Stoley looked at Kenny like a poor, innocent fool. “The changing of the guards is in an hour,” he warned in a shaky voice. “If you come out now, I won’t tell them what you did.”

David, two cells down, snorted so loudly Tweek could hear it. “Do you really expect us to believe that? Let’s see how fucking terrifying this _night shift_ is, then.”

Kevin rubbed the toe of his boot into the ground. “It’s… pretty terrifying.”

Bill Allen elbowed him. “Stop talking to them like they’re rational. Clearly _someone,”_ his eyes flickered in Kenny’s direction, “has lost it. Reason won’t work any more.”

“Oh, is reason how you win most of your fights? Here I thought it was because you’re too stupid to realize you’re fighting the wrong person most of the time.”

“Nah, Kenny. Bill wins his fights because he calls Trent,” David corrected.

Gary smiled a little. “I’m pretty sure it’s just indiscriminate violence.”

Kenny pretended to rub his chin thoughtfully. “On second thought, Bill, I don’t think you actually win most of your fights so this is kind of a moot point. Stoley, on the other hand.”

David cracked up. “Next to you, Kevin Stoley would strike fear deep into my heart.”

Kevin sat up happily, and Bill shot him a glare.

“No,” a high-pitched voice interrupted from up the stairs. “I’m pretty sure, _I_ should strike fear deep into your hearts.” A new guard descended the stairs. It was the dark-haired one with _red pupils_ , and the scream that caught in Gary’s throat was enough to tell Tweek that this had been the guard to shave and delouse him.

He was quickly followed by Craig, who was still tugging his jacket on as he stormed down the stairs. “Really? You had to call us in an hour early for _this_? I was expecting riots! Why don’t you just take their cages apart?” He spat, striding down the line of cells. He paused outside Tweek’s for a second to smirk.

Tweek braced himself for the first insult to be directed at him – something which he knew he would crack under immediately, but Craig just laughed under his breath. “You’re a lot cuter with hair, Alien.”

“Aw, Craig, I know you’re ugly, but do you have to resort to hitting on your inmates?” Kenny cooed.

Craig’s neck practically snapped to glare at Kenny. “I am. Very. Attractive.”

Kenny immediately burst out into a fit of high-pitched giggles that overcame him to the extent he had to let go of the bar and stumble back on the cot, clutching his stomach as he continued to laugh. “Someone's insecure, aren’t they?”

Damien glanced up the stairs. “Honestly, did we even need him?”

“I was told to call the whole night shift!” Kevin squeaked defensively as Butters Stotch joined the five of them in front of Kenny’s cell. Tweek wanted to tell them that there was a _whole other cell_ rebelling that got absolutely no attention, but the guards seemed to be focused on them.

More accurately, the guards seemed to be focused on Kenny.

Damien rolled his eyes. “You could have just called me. Where is Trent?”

“He’s with the inmates who didn’t participate,” Kevin reported weakly.

Damien nodded. “And what have you been doing with the inmates while we’ve been gone?”

“Exchanging petty insults, mainly,” Kenny replied before a guard got a chance. “Vampires stopped being cool years ago. Are those fake teeth?”

Damien smiled at him, showing two pronounced canine teeth. “No. These are my real teeth.” He rounded on the guards. “Did you three seriously just play into their stupid games?” With a flick of his finger, the other guards gathered around him.

“Well, they said we couldn’t use violence,” Bill tried to explain.

Craig grinned. “What about force? Did he say anything about force?”

The guards were silent, and Tweek could feel his heart hammering in his chest. A second of worry flashed across Kenny’s face before he could put his calm bravado back up.

“Nothing about force, then? Perfect.” Craig and Damien exchanged knowing eye contact, and Damien whispered something to Craig as their eyes scanned the basement for any tools. Craig’s smile got even wider as his gaze fell on a fire extinguisher, and he walked proudly across the basement to grab it.

He stood alone in front of David’s cell. “Are you guys going to come out, or are we going to have to make you?”

There was silence, then David responded bravely, “I think you’re going to have to make us.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

The other guards were all watching Craig curiously, but his movements were blocked from Tweek’s view. All he could hear was the sound of gas flying out of a nozzle and screams from everyone in the cell. “Now?”

Tweek watched Kenny’s heart break as he heard beds sliding back from the bars and the cage doors opening. “Stotch, Stoley, Allen. You deal with these ones. I want the beds out of the cells. Everything else is up to you.”

Heavy footsteps marked Craig’s reappearance outside Tweek’s cell, and three pairs of eyes desperately followed the movements of the fire extinguisher in his hand. “Am I going to have to force you?”

“No!” Tweek gasped before Kenny could give another headstrong response.

Craig frowned down at his fire extinguisher. “That’s too bad. I shouldn’t be wasting a fire extinguisher.”

It was the last thing Tweek heard before skin-freezing carbon dioxide spewed out of the fire extinguisher onto Kenny’s mostly bare skin. Kenny stumbled away from the door of the cage, biting back the screams that David’s cell had let out. Craig looked slightly disappointed, but he turned the nozzle onto Gary and Tweek, eliciting the response he was hoping for as both boys stumbled away from their door.

Craig forced the cage open and grabbed Tweek’s cot, pulling it out into the hallway. Gary’s and Kenny’s followed quickly before Damien entered the empty cell to thrust the three of them out onto their hands and knees.

Craig knelt in front of Tweek, tilting his chin up so his eyes were forced to meet his dark sunglasses. “You want to rip your uniform up?” He asked tauntingly before grabbing the hole at Tweek’s chest and ripping firmly downward so the smock fell off easily. Damien followed his actions with Kenny and Gary. Gary scrambled to cover himself up as quickly as possible, but Kenny just lay there the whole time.

“Who started this?” Damien demanded, eyeing the six of them mistrustfully. Tweek looked up to see Scott, DogPoo and David stripped and lying with burning skin much like their own cell was. David and Kenny exchanged worried looks, and no one spoke. “I _said_ , who started this?”

For good measure, Craig gave them all another spray of the fire extinguisher.

“No, Craig, we need that in case of fires!” Butters cried helplessly.

Craig smirked. “We’ll get a new one. Does anyone want to tell us who started the rebellion _now_?”

Kenny raised his head to look the inmates over. Gary was huddled into himself. DogPoo seemed to be licking his skin to help the pain. David had his head down, and Scott Malkinson was worrying his bottom lip. “13 and 19, sir,” he reported painfully, and Kenny let out a loud groan in protest.

Craig stepped back. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Stotch, Allen, get them to solitary.”

“There’s only one solitary confinement room,” Butters began, but Craig turned to glare at him, and he stopped all movement and speaking under the pressure. He muttered something to Bill, who nodded in agreement.

David was grabbed by his arm and blindfolded again before Bill walked him up the stairs of the basement. Tweek watched him go in horror, not even noticing Butters loosely tying a blindfold around Kenny’s eyes and leading him by the shoulder to a small closet at the end of the hallway.

Craig stepped back to eye the four of them. “Push-ups until we figure out what to do with _you_ four.”

The guards convened in a corner, and Tweek immediately pushed himself into a plank to start doing push-ups when Craig pushed him to the ground with his boot. “You. Get up.”

“I didn’t start it!” Tweek protested desperately, but Craig simply led him to where Scott Malkinson was wheezing after two push-ups.

The two of them stood there, watching Scott, for a second before Craig interrupted him with a boot landing heavily on his back. “You’re doing it wrong. 15, get on his back.”

“Wh-what?”

Craig rounded on Tweek. “Sit on his fucking back or you will be doing push-ups for the next hour, okay?”

Tweek nodded obediently and sat down clumsily on Scott. The boy’s elbows made a sickening crunch, and he started shaking as he forced himself to continue the push-ups. The other guards may not have heard it, but Tweek sure did when Craig dropped to eye level with Scott and hissed, “That’s what you get for being a fucking rat.”

Tweek wanted to feel bad. Scott clearly did not have enough strength to do push-ups as long as the other inmates, and with Tweek’s weight, he had to keep pausing to readjust his hands or let out small groans. Then Tweek remembered this was the boy who had sold out Kenny and David _and_ that he didn’t have to do push-ups with the others, and he stopped feeling so guilty.

A full hour later, once the morning shift had gone home, Craig announced loudly, “You can all stop now.”

The inmates fell to the ground in exhaustion, and Tweek rolled off Scott. He considered flashing the boy an apologetic smile, and then he thought about what tortures Kenny was probably going through right now and decided Scott didn’t really deserve any pity.

He had to admit, he was a little confused about where Craig Tucker was coming from with this experiment. All the other guards had _wanted_ Kenny and David to be sold out. Craig even seemed like he wanted that, but Craig was mad that Scott had betrayed the only people who could hope to understand what he was about to go through in the next two weeks. On top of that, Tweek seemed to be his favorite by a mile. It might have been some lingering protectiveness of _his_ prisoner. Butters certainly showed favoritism to Kenny even in light of the rebellion, but Butters was too sweet for this world. Craig was the _reason_ that the world was too dark for Butters.

The three inmates who had not taken part in the rebellion were led down the stairs by Damien, and Craig gestured for them to get on the floor with their fellow inmates. Only Butters appeared with a chair for Jimmy, and Craig pinched the bridge of his nose. “Things are going to be done differently from now on. I don’t know how lenient the other guards were, but apparently it didn’t work, did it?”

No one said anything, and Craig stomped down on DogPoo’s back. “Did it work?”

“No, sir!”

“Didn’t think so. These prisoners,” he said, gesturing to Jimmy, Clyde and Fosse, “are the models you should all aspire towards. I think, because of that, they deserve special privileges. Would you agree, Damien?”

Damien flashed his canine teeth in another wicked smile. “That sounds about right.”

Craig grabbed Clyde by the wrist. “What privilege would _you_ like, 14?”

“Is this a trick question?”

Tweek was definitely reading too much into Craig’s behavior as Craig thrust his face very close to Clyde’s. “I want to hear what privilege you’d like. There’s no wrong answer.” He stood back up and smiled fondly at Clyde. “There’s no right answer, either.”

“Daylight?”

Craig pretended to think this over. “What about beds? And food? Maybe keeping your uniforms?”

Tweek really wished Kenny was there to point out that these weren’t privileges – it was simply not losing their current standard of living, but Craig seemed very aware of that fact. It was, Tweek realized, probably the point.

It also meant Tweek was probably not getting a bed, food, or uniform in the near future.

“Um, that sounds good,” Clyde forced out.

Craig grinned. “Your comfort is our top priority.”

*

“I think if you pretend to eat air, it’ll fill you up faster.”

“Thanks for your input, Scott. You’re really a team player.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Kenny. They were going to figure it out eventually.”

“But they figured it out from _you_. You’re officially the enemy, Scott.” Kenny had been released from solitary for dinner so he could join Tweek and Gary with their empty trays while they watched the “good” cell and Scott enjoy their meals. Kenny had made it very clear that he had nothing but disdain for Scott now, and he had laughed for a solid two minutes when Tweek told him what Craig had said.

At least he still had some spirit.

The guards were patrolling the tables, and Butters stopped at Tweek, Kenny, and Scott’s circle. He looked sadly at their empty plates. “Aren’t you guys hungry?”

“Of course not. I cleaned my plate, sir,” Kenny spat back before turning around to see which guard it was. His gaze softened instantly. “I’ve lost food privileges for 24 hours,” he explained in a kinder voice.

Butters looked angry. “They’re not feeding you?”

Tweek and Kenny looked down at their empty plates and back at Butters like he could figure that out for himself.

“Then why are you upstairs?” Butters asked innocently.

“It’s mealtime,” Kenny answered bluntly. “Ask Craig if you have any questions.”

Butters disappeared, and Kenny stared after him for longer than Tweek would have expected before turning back to his empty plate. He exchanged a look with Tweek, and Tweek could have sworn he saw a flicker of hope lost before Kenny’s face broke back into a calm smile. “Mmm,” he said sarcastically as he lifted an empty forkful to his mouth.

“I’m really sorry, Kenny,” Scott muttered uselessly. Kenny glared down at his plate without a response for a very long time. Tweek wanted to poke at him to make sure he wasn’t frozen in that position, but Craig soon appeared dragging Butters by the arm.

Craig’s hand smashed down on the empty plate in front of Kenny as he leaned over him. “I heard you don’t like mealtimes.”

Kenny jerked back into attention, flashing Butters a betrayed look. Butters shook his head imperceptibly like this was in no way his intent.

“Luckily for you, the _good_ cell has a bucket that needs to be cleaned out. Does that sound more pleasant? You can probably even have lunch.”

Kenny banged his hands on the table angrily as he stood up to follow Craig. “Can I have some fucking gloves this time?”

Craig’s eyes flickered over Kenny’s naked form, and he looked like he was about to laugh. “That would go against the “no clothing for the rebels rule”, wouldn’t it? Be downstairs in five minutes for cleaning. I’ll let you finish your meal.” He glanced over at Tweek for a brief second. “Don’t worry. I assume it’s cold in here.”

Tweek frowned at his plate. “I feel kinda dirty.”

Kenny stared at Tweek disbelievingly. “You get hit on by a guard, and you feel dirty? I’m about to clean up shit with my bare hands.” Kenny stood up and stalked down the stairs. Tweek wanted to interject that he’d get in trouble for being four minutes early, but Kenny didn’t seem to care.

Scott looked at Tweek sympathetically. “I’d feel dirty, too. He stares at you a lot.”

Tweek clenched his jaw. He had seen the loss of hope in Kenny’s eyes. He knew whose fault it was. This is what you get for being a rat.

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Scott.”


	4. Day Three

Kenny should have guessed something was wrong when Damien Thorne appeared to lead him out of his cell. He was, after all, guard enemy number one. Someone must have done something really fucked up to disgrace the experiment more than Kenny.

He blinked in surprise as he saw Scott Malkinson being led into the cell by a bumbling Butters. Scott shot Kenny a betrayed glare, and Kenny returned the look coldly. If Scott had done something to earn solitary, Kenny could only say _good_. Plus, Kenny had nothing against gay people. He probably was one. He still got the impression that Scott would enjoy being in a closet with Britney Spears on repeat blaring through speakers more than Kenny had.

Kenny’s mouth parted in surprise as he saw Token leading David down the stairs of the garage, blindfold still on. Damien threw open the privilege cell to pull Clyde Donovan out of it and pushed him towards Token. “Get him upstairs.”

David and Kenny exchanged shell shocked looks as Clyde kicked out against Token’s hold. “You fucking bastard!” He snarled at David, who cringed. “You’ve killed me!”

“You’re not going to die,” Token muttered peacefully. “There’s just been a switch in rooming situations.” He tied the blindfold around Clyde’s eyes and started leading him towards the stairs.

Damien paced in front of the cells. “Get 13 in the privilege cell,” he snarled to Butters. “19 can go in 17’s cell.”

“That’s an awful lot of numbers, Mr. Damien, sir,” Butters sputtered.

Damien sneered. “It’s on their _uniforms_ , Butters.”

“Well, um, they’re not exactly… wearing uniforms… sir…” Butters glanced helplessly at Kenny, who held up a 1 and 3 with his fingers. “Oh.”

Kenny was led nervously to the privilege cell as David disappeared back into his old cell. Jimmy looked like he was struggling not to be angry about Clyde’s disappearance, and Fosse grinned nastily at him. “Benefits of sucking a guard’s dick, huh?”

Butters noticeably froze as he turned away from Kenny’s cell, and Kenny frowned at Fosse. “Right. Because you’re not getting ass rammed by Trent, Terrance, Bill, and Damien all at once.”

“There aren’t that many holes!”

Kenny tapped on his ears with a grin, and Fosse grimaced.

Jimmy looked at Kenny nervously. “What, um… what are they going to do to Clyde?” He asked in a hushed voice, and Kenny rolled his eyes.

“He’ll clean up some shit and have the same song blasted in total darkness all day. It’s kind of a rave,” he added sarcastically.

A bony hand gripped the bars of their cage, and Damien flashed a toothy grin. “Shit cleanup has been postponed indefinitely. You don’t have to worry about your _friend_.”

It didn’t take Kenny long to figure out what had happened, and he was guessing David was in the same boat. When Kenny was offered his first meal in a day, he was seated across from Gary and Tweek, once again deprived of a meal.

Kenny was, at first, delighted to see his friends. Jimmy and Fosse had been bitter and cold to him the whole day. Jimmy seemed to think Clyde’s disappearance was Kenny’s fault, and Fosse was such a fucking guard sympathizer that he probably hated Kenny for the rebellion.

It was at dinner that he realized Tweek and Gary both gave him the same frosty treatment. After some feeble attempts at conversation, Kenny gave up and ate his food in silence while they glared daggers at him. Kenny glanced up only to meet Damien’s eyes, whose lip curled in the unpleasant way one’s does when they think they know something Kenny didn’t.

Kenny had been set up. He had started a rebellion, and now every other inmate thought that he was a rat. He looked around desperately for David in the room, but David was staring deliberately at his food as if he had also realized what the guards had done to him.

He had more important things to worry about very quickly. There had been whimpering through his cage the whole day mixed with Gary’s hushed platitudes, but that night Kenny was awoken by bloodcurdling screams coming from the cell next to him.

Kenny was off his bed in an instant, pressing his face against the bars to try to peer into the other cell. Butters blinked his eyes open sleepily, vaguely muttering, “Were those my screams?” before his gaze fixed on the cell next to Kenny. His eyes looked like saucers as he fumbled to pull out his cellphone. “Damien! Damien, come quick!”

Damien strolled over leisurely from his spot watching Kenny’s cell. “No need to yell. I am, in fact, right next to you.” He shook the bars of Tweek and Gary’s cell. “Quiet down in there!” He shouted sharply. “Don’t make me come in there.”

The shouts quickly transformed to hysterical sobbing, and Kenny’s knuckles were white as he clutched the bars. He could hear the cell door being pulled open and watched in horror as a shaking Tweek Tweak was dragged out of his cell.

Tweek was shaking his head rapidly, muttering _no no no nononono_ whenever he got control enough on his crying to speak. Damien flashed him a quick look of disgust, but he led Tweek upstairs without a blindfold.

Kenny stepped back from the edge of his cell. Jimmy and Fosse had both woken up, and they watched him with similar bemusement. Kenny was definitely not going to make any friends in this cell. He looked around wildly for Token or Butters, but Token was napping, and Butters had his back to Kenny, wringing his hands frantically as the sounds of Tweek’s sobs permeated the whole basement. “ _Butters,_ ” Kenny hissed. Butters didn’t turn around, and Kenny raised his voice slightly. “Butters!”

Butters glanced behind him, his brow furrowing. “Um. Go back to bed. Inmate.” He ordered in his best attempt at a tough voice.

Kenny narrowed his eyes. “Are you going to let _Damien_ take care of him like this? Get the fuck upstairs.”

“You can’t order me around! You’re a prisoner!” Butters resolve was crumbling before he had even finished building it up.

“Butters,” Kenny said softly, and Butters bit back a frown. “He’s in a lot of danger up there. Are you going to just leave it?”

Butters looked up the stairs with the gigantic puppy eyes that had made Kenny forgive him for the delousing spray. “I… I can’t, Kenny.”

Kenny nodded in disappointment, not even registering that Butters hadn’t referred to him as “13”.

He stepped back towards his bed, and Butters moved forward an inch to the cage. “I’m really sorry, Kenny. It’s Damien’s decision what happens at this point.”

Kenny stared at Butters dully for a second before flopping back down on his bed. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to pretend he couldn’t hear Damien’s sharp voice rising over Tweek’s sobbing. When Kenny gave in and looked up, he was faced with the smug face of Fosse McDonald.

“What do you want?”

Fosse grinned and cocked his head to one side. “Not sucking the guard’s dick?”

Kenny groaned. “No, Fosse. Jesus, go touch yourself or something. Your interest in this is embarrassing for you.”

Jimmy and Fosse exchanged a glance. “H-he did call you Kuh- _kuh_ -Kenny,” Jimmy admitted.

“See, I would suck a guard’s dick for favors, but unfortunately _I’m always with all of you_ ,” Kenny snarled. “Stop acting like I’ve hurt you. You’re the ones who abandoned your fellow inmates during our fight.”

“And you’re a rat,” Fosse responded evenly.

“… There was suh-solitary confinement,” Jimmy said slowly. “You were alone a lot then.”

Kenny shook his head. “God, you guys are pathetic. Why don’t you try to focus on the important things? Like another inmate’s breakdown?”

Fosse shrugged. “I don’t know him. It’s his own fault for signing up for an experiment he couldn’t handle. I hope they kick him out.”

“Yeah. I do too,” Kenny hissed. “Probably not for the same reasons your sociopathic ass does.”

Kenny fell silent as Damien dragged Tweek back down to the basement. Tweek was convulsing and twitching like Kenny had never seen him before, and Kenny stood up on his bed to grab the bars of his cell again. He listened quietly as the cell door was opened, and Tweek was ushered back inside.

“ _We’re not allowed to leave, man! We’re stuck here until it’s done! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck we’re stuck here. We’re stuck here. We’re stuck here.”_ Kenny’s eyes widened as he heard Tweek force the words out of his chattering jaw. “ _We’re trapped, man! We’re trapped like animals before the slaughter! Jesus Christ!”_

Damien paused pulling on his coat to bang on their cell. “Quit being weak, 15. You’re fine.”

Tweek made a strangled sobbing noise.

There was the sound of a door opening, and footsteps pounded down the stairs. Damien sighed in relief. “Took you long enough. He’s your problem now.”

Craig took a step back as Damien breezed past him. “What’s my problem now?”

“Inmate #15 isn’t doing so good,” Butters stammered. “I think he’s having a nervous breakdown.”

A person Kenny couldn’t see snorted. The much-hated voice of Trent Boyett met his ears as he smirked, “You really expect us to believe that?”

“He’s probably faking,” Kyle’s voice followed.

Kenny rattled the bars off his cell. “Fucking look at him before you say he’s faking!”

Trent stormed in front of his cage. “You speak when spoken to, inmate.”

Craig’s expression had hardened at the mention of Tweek’s number, and he stalked past Kenny’s cell towards Tweek’s. He stood silently in front of it for a second, and Kenny’s heart beat quickly as he imagined what sights there were to be seen in his cage.

Damien’s footsteps paused at the top of the stairs. “I’ve already talked to him. He knows he’s not going anywhere.”

“He’s leaving,” Craig said gruffly.

Kyle’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you sure Randy will like that?”

Craig rounded on Kyle, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Yeah. You were right, Kyle. You _are_ the nice guard. He’s leaving this fucking experiment tonight.”

“He’s just trying to trick us,” Trent frowned.

The door to Tweek’s cell was opened again, and Tweek came back into Kenny’s vision as Craig pulled him out of the cage with a vice grip on his arm. “He was scratching at the walls,” Craig growled. “His nails are bloody.” He moved one of Tweek’s hands for the other guards to see. “We’re sending him home immediately. Call his parents.”

“Craig,” Kyle protested feebly.

“He’s allowed to leave whenever he wants!” Kenny snapped impatiently.

Craig looked Kenny over scathingly for a second then turned his attention back to Kyle. “He’s allowed to leave whenever he wants,” Craig repeated in a level voice. “Tweek is leaving tonight. You can torment your own inmate, Broflovski.”

Kenny’s eyebrows shot up. Kyle’s inmate? Had the guards actually chosen with inmate they’d pay the most attention to? A weak fluttering in the pit of his stomach suggested that it was very much the case.

And Kenny had gotten stuck with the most weak-willed guard out there. It fucking figured.

“He’s not your inmate,” Trent snarled, blocking Craig and Tweek’s path. “He needs to finish the experiment.”

“ _He’s not finishing the fucking experiment!”_ Craig shouted in Trent’s face. “You all might want to prove Eric Cartman is innocent, but I fucking _don’t_. Tweek goes home.”

Kyle looked confused. “What was that about Eric Cartman?”

Craig grinned darkly. “God, you have no fucking idea what you’re doing, do you, Broflovski? Think about it. I didn’t peg you as dumb.” He threw a dispassionate glare at Trent. “Find me the contact information for the Tweaks immediately.”

Tweek, who was still shaking and attempting to pull away from Craig’s grip desperately, stopped fighting to stare at Craig in surprise. “R-really?”

Craig’s gaze flicked up and down _his_ inmate, and his smile didn’t meet his eyes. “Do you think you’re fit to continue this experiment?”

Tweek shook his head rapidly.

“Then you’re leaving.”

Trent made a disappointed noise in the back of his throat, but he didn’t object as he pulled out a drawer of files and started rifling through. He handed a file to Craig, who scanned it quickly and fished the cellphone out of his pocket.

“We should really talk to Randy first!” Kyle begged.

“He’s too weak to finish this experiment. Just let him go,” Trent sighed in resignation. “Fucking coward.”

Tweek squeaked in fear, and Craig paused punching numbers into his phone to shoot Trent a withering glare. “Tweek is not a member of this experiment anymore. You are not allowed to speak to him that way.”

Kenny watched in surprise as Craig finished dialing the Tweaks and put the cellphone to his ear. After a few rings, he barked out, “Can you come pick your son up? … No, he’s fine. He’s leaving the experiment. … Okay, I’ll tell him he needs more team activities. This isn’t the place for him. … _Jesus Christ, shut up._ Your son is in trouble, okay? … Yeah. We’ll see you soon.” He hung up the phone and gave Tweek an inscrutable look. “Your dad says you need more team activities.”

“I think he heard,” Kenny remarked dryly as he sunk back down onto his cot.

Craig glared at Kenny. “Considering you’re the one who drove him to this, I don’t really think you’re in any place to act the hero, 13.” He shook his head in disappointment and grabbed Tweek’s arm again. “This experiment is the reason why I’m a misanthrope,” he muttered under his breath as he pulled Tweek up the stairs.

Trent frowned at Kyle for a second before calling, “You seem to like Tweek!” after Craig’s retreating back. Craig paused to flip him off then opened the door of the stairs for Tweek to exit.

Trent and Kyle stared at each other, at a loss for what to do when _Craig Tucker_ suddenly became the hero of the hour. Finally, Trent cleared his throat and seemed to shake out his thoughts before yelling, “It’s time for count! Everyone out of your cells!”

That was how 15 became Tweek Tweak again.


	5. Day Four

Craig was not stupid. He had figured out what was happening the moment Eric Cartman handed him a bottle of delousing spray for Tweek. It really wasn’t hard to piece together for people who followed the news. This was an experiment to prove his innocence. None of the other guards seemed to have realized, but they were all drunk on their newfound power.

He couldn’t deny that he’d done his fair share of abuse in the past three days. The fire extinguisher might have been going a little far, but the prisoners were rebelling. The other guards seemed malicious without reason or purpose.

Honestly, not letting Tweek leave was disgusting to him. Randy Marsh calling him into his office to discuss the “Tweek Debacle” was disgusting. Craig had made the only choice a decent human being would make. It was illegal to hold Tweek in this experiment against his will, and he had clearly cracked. Craig thought he’d last at least a week before cracking, but he was wrong.

Craig knocked on the door to the Marsh residence a few times, more than a little irritated that Randy was probably making him stand out in the cold as part of a power play. Finally, the door swung open, and Craig staggered back a few steps. It looked like a funhouse mirror. Randy’s son had his same blue eyes, sharp features, and dark hair. The only difference seemed to be height.

“Weird,” Stan breathed like he totally understood Craig’s surprise. “Are you here for my dad?”

“No, I’m trying to fuck your mom. Obviously I’m here for Randy,” Craig spat.

Stan raised an eyebrow at his attitude but stepped back to let Craig in the house. “I think he’s in front of the TV,” he said, pointing towards the other room. So Randy had definitely heard the doorbell ringing.

Craig didn’t like power plays. You either had power or you didn’t, and Randy didn’t have _shit_ over him.

“Randy,” Craig called roughly, entering the living room. Randy barely looked away from the game on TV, and Craig had to find the remote and turn it off before facing the scientist again. “ _Randy.”_

“That’s Mr. Marsh to you,” Randy reprimanded, and Craig scoffed.

“Why did you call me in here?”

Randy looked him over curiously. “You’re the one who released inmate 15, aren’t you?” He asked as understanding dawned on his face.

Craig steadied his expression. “Tweek? Yes. I am the one who chose _not_ to break the law.”

He was surprised to see a manic glint in Randy’s eyes. Craig was positive he had never seen that expression on the man’s face before. Randy let out a high-pitched laugh, and Craig struggled not to cringe. “And did you know this Tweek is now planning a mass escape plot for our inmates?”

Craig arched an eyebrow. _That_ did not sound like Tweek. Tweek could barely take care of himself when Craig discharged him the day before. There was no way he had organized a breakout, and, if the prisoners wanted to leave so badly, they had every right to. “Is he now? How did you find that out?”

Randy looked slightly proud. “Fosse McDonald is a model inmate. He heard McCormick and Rodriguez whispering about it during lunch and reported it to me immediately.”

McCormick. Craig’s lip curled upwards. “This sounds serious,” he responded with a trace of mockery in his voice.

“It _is_ serious.”

Craig nodded. “What do you want me to do about this?”

Randy clenched his hands into fists. “I obviously want you to fix the damage you’ve done, Tucker! Do _not_ let any more inmates escape.”

He grinned. It looked like Randy’s trial could be right after Eric’s. “Of course, sir. May I ask a question before I go?”

Randy glared at him. “You may.”

Craig felt his heart thumping against his own will. He wasn’t scared of this drunken pig of a man. “What’s the independent variable in this study? Sir.”

Randy narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“What’s the independent variable?” Craig repeated patiently.

“Is this really the time for that?” Randy demanded furiously. “We have a mass escape plot, and you’re… asking me about independent variables! That’s not _important_ right now.”

Craig nodded. “Well, I just think because it’s a scientific experiment, it might be important.”

Randy banged his fist down. “Fix this! Then ask your _stupid_ questions!”

That was all the information Craig needed. Randy had clearly lost his mind and forgotten about the experiment entirely. Most of the other guards had come into the experiment as criminals, but Craig was especially interested in seeing the humanity being stripped away from Randy and, perhaps even more fascinating, Broflovski.

He just hadn’t pegged Kyle as the type of guard who wouldn’t release Tweek immediately after what happened. It made Craig furious.

Maybe he was something of a research psychologist too. He was sure he was learning more about human nature than Randy was from his skewed perspective. It was actually kind of funny. Craig could feel himself caring about people more and more as he saw the experiment unfold.

“I’ll take care of it, sir.”

“Do.”

Craig gave him a final smile before turning towards the door. He paused in front of it to glance over his shoulder and meet Stan’s curious gaze. “Were you listening that whole time?”

“You know something. You know something my dad doesn’t.”

Craig laughed lightly. “I know lots of things your father doesn’t. If you would excuse me, I have a job to do.”

Stan furrowed his brow. “You don’t really believe this, do you? They’re… they’re allowed to leave whenever they want, right?”

Craig took in Stan’s worried expression and dropped the mocking exterior. “They should be. And no. I don’t believe this.”

“Why not?”

Craig smirked. “Because McCormick and Rodriguez also know lots of things your father doesn’t.”

*

“What the hell are we going to do?” Terrance repeated for the third time. He was tugging on his hair in frustration, and Craig itched to suggest he pull some hair out of that unibrow if he was going to pull some hair out.

Token frowned. “We could move them?”

“To where?” Craig spat unnecessarily. He liked Token. Token was a good, strong guard who didn’t seem to take sadistic pleasure in torturing the prisoners. He simply followed the rules of the study because he had given his word that he would. Craig respected that.

“Another prison?”

Terrance scowled. “Who has another giant basement in their garage?”

“A _real_ prison,” Token corrected with a sigh. “We move them back to the jail cell from the first day. Tweek comes. No one’s there. Randy doesn’t lose his shit.”

Craig nodded slowly, a small grin growing on his face. “We should probably have Randy waiting for Tweek when he arrives,” he said in a voice too flat to betray any mischief behind it. “You know? Just waiting in the garage? Tweek would probably run away as soon as he saw him.”

“That’s a pretty good idea,” Terrance conceded.

Token glanced towards Craig. “Do you think Barbrady would let us use their cells again?”

“I’m sure of it.”

The other guards were called in to help with the movement of the prisoners as Token and Craig placed a call to the police department. More accurately, Craig smoked a cigarette and grinned to himself as Token spoke to the Chief of Police.

Token hung up the phone sadly. “Request denied. Their insurance doesn’t cover it.”

Craig faked a huge sigh. “Let’s go tell the other guards.”

True to his expectations, the guards who met him upstairs were furious. A flurry of voices bombarded Token and Craig as soon as they shared the news, and Craig’s eyes flicked from one guard to another as they all expressed their bitterness and anger.

One comment caught Craig’s full attention. Broflovski was looking more fired up than Craig had ever seen him, and he practically shook with anger as he growled, “Do they not give a shit that another correctional facility is about to be broken into?”

“Probably not when it’s an experiment instead of a correctional facility,” Craig drawled helpfully.

Butters worried his bottom lip. “We could just leave them down there and stop Tweek when he shows up?”

Craig shook his head. “No. I want the inmates moved and the prison dismantled for their arrival. We’re dealing with a _mass escape plot_ , people! You don’t seem to understand the gravity of this.”

“I’m calling Randy,” Bill insisted. “He’ll know what to do.”

Craig smiled. “Good idea, Allen! I knew some good would come of you.”

Bill looked too confused to be insulted. “… Okay.”

Stoley and Broflovski disappeared out of the garage to find Randy, and Craig sighed heavily. “Let’s start prepping the prisoners,” he said darkly. His own acting skills amazed him. People really, really believed Tweek was going to bust up the experiment.

The remaining guards walked downstairs to join Damien as he guarded the inmates by himself. He produced enough fear to keep them all docile by himself, and Trent tugged him aside to explain what was happening.

Damien nodded briskly. “Everyone out of your cell!” He ordered in his voice that was _way_ too high to be taken seriously. “Allen and Mephesto, go get the inmate in solitary.”

Bill nodded quickly and disappeared upstairs as Terrance simply strolled over to the electrical closet and pulled Scott Malkinson out roughly. Randy appeared downstairs before Bill had a chance to return with Clyde, and Trent pulled him aside to have a furiously whispered conversation.

They beckoned Craig over, and he obediently sauntered up to the two of them. “Yes?”

“We’re moving them to the attic,” Trent hissed. “Get them blinded and chained together.”

Craig saluted. “And will you be waiting for Tweek?” He asked Randy innocently.

“You bet your ass I am. There will be no escape plots under _my_ jurisdiction.”

Craig snorted and wandered off to spread the word to the other guards. Without Tweek around to torment, he didn’t have much interest in the prisoners. It allowed him to hang back and watch as the other guards attached the chains around their ankles to one another and pulled paper bags over their head.

“What’s going on?” Kenny asked innocently, and Craig almost smiled at him before Butters tugged the bag down over his face. He could see Butters murmuring something under his breath, but Craig couldn’t make out what he was saying. He did notice Kenny standing a little straighter and, behind him, a victorious look crossed David’s face before another bag was pulled down over him.

Craig hung behind as the inmates were led into the attic. Randy looked him and the remaining guards, only Broflovski and Token, disparagingly. “Dismantle this prison before he gets here. I’ll be upstairs.”

Broflovski nodded quickly. “What should we do about Tweek, sir?”

Randy eyed them all coldly. “He was released under false pretenses and _without my agreement_. He’s coming back to prison.”

Craig stiffened, but he remained silent. Tweek wouldn’t show. If he knew one thing in this world, it was that Tweek wouldn’t show. Still, he got to work dismantling the cells and moving the privilege cots to the corner of the basement. He wrinkled his nose at the half full bathroom buckets in the cells, but he still said nothing. At least now he knew why it always smelled awful in the basement.

With the basement quickly emptied, Craig was free to go home.

*

It really wasn’t a surprise when he got a call from Token that evening that Tweek’s escape plot had never materialized. Craig grinned victoriously. An inkling of respect for Kenny and David even appeared. They had been pranked.

He found it much funnier than the rebellion.

“What’s Randy doing about it?” Craig asked eagerly.

“He’s _furious_ ,” Token admitted. “He’s trying to capture Tweek. Actually capture him. Craig, I think he’s lost his mind.”

“I don’t think he’s ever had it. How are the other guards?”

There was silence on the other end, then Token’s voice came out of the phone hesitantly. “They’re pretty mad.”

A wide grin split Craig’s face. “How mad?”

Another silence. “I think you’ll see tomorrow. It’s… rough here. Fosse and David got put in solitary, and Kenny’s back on shit duty and out of the privilege cell.”

“Oh, those aren’t their names,” Craig taunted.

Token chuckled a little. “It’s a lot of numbers to keep straight, man. Seriously, though – it’s bad here. Trent kicked over a shit bucket and made him clean the floor with his hands. I’m… honestly impressed that’s possible.”

Craig burst out laughing. “I am, too.”

“Sparkling clean. It’s shocking.”

“Kenny’s good at what he does.”

“Tormenting the guards?”

“Exactly.” Craig paused for a second. “So did Randy even collect data today?”

“Um, no. We were pretty busy with the whole escape plot.”

Craig sighed. “I thought so. Token, do _you_ know what the independent variable is?”

“I don’t. Ask Randy.”

“He doesn’t _know_.”

Another silence. “That can’t be good,” Token said finally.

“In fact, it’s bad.”

“There are only ten more days. Everyone’s going to get through this okay.”

“Tweek didn’t,” Craig argued reasonably.

“Everyone other than Tweek is going to get through this okay.”


	6. Day Five

Stan kept sneaking looks at Craig as he smoked his cigarette in an unnecessarily brooding manner. This was not what he imagined when Craig invited him out for a talk. He had expected something more along the lines of talking. Craig seemed content to stare into space with Stan next to him. It was off-putting, to say the least.

“So,” Stan said finally as Craig examined his quickly dying cigarette butt. “You wanted to talk?”

Craig glanced at him and smiled. “Let’s just be quiet for a little bit.”

“We’ve been quiet for ten minutes!”

Craig tilted his chin up to the sun. “Just a bit longer.”

Stan’s hands clenched into fists. “Now, Craig!”

He sighed and tossed his cigarette into the snow. “Impatient, are we? I had a question for you.” He pulled his sunglasses off and tucked them into his pocket, fixing his eyes on Stan seriously.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What’s the fucking question?”

Craig paused like he hadn’t expected Stan to ask this. “Give me a second.” Stan sighed deeply, and Craig’s lip twitched. “Can we go inside?”

Stan wished he could go inside. Father Maxi had arrived in the morning, and Randy had shooed Stan out without an explanation. That was the only reason he’d been bored enough to visit the prison, but Craig had caught him before he got down the stairs. “My dad’s doing something for the experiment in there.”

His eyes darkened. “I know he is. I want to see.”

Stan surveyed him disbelievingly. “Why? You hate this.”

“I do. I do hate this.”

Stan crossed his arms. “I don’t get your deal.”

Craig’s lip twitched. “Good. I would hate if you did.”

“I really don’t believe you’re actually interested in the science.”

He shrugged. “I’m really not.”

Stan gaped at him. It was like talking to a brick wall, this kid. Craig had been nothing but a thorn in his dad’s side, and Stan couldn’t figure out if he liked that or not. He definitely didn’t like watching his father turn into a high-strung prison warden instead of a happily drunken geologist, but this experiment seemed to mean a lot to him. Stan hadn’t forced himself to go down to the prisons since he’d set it up, and he suspected that he didn’t want to. It would make it a lot harder to support Randy. “So why do you ask all these questions?”

Craig raised an eyebrow. “Am I not allowed to be curious? You sound as defensive as your dad.”

“I don’t sound like my dad!”

Craig smirked. “Prove it. Bring me inside.”

Stan stared at him for a long second then sighed. “Let’s go in the back.”

Craig followed Stan around the house carefully. Stan held a finger up to his lips as they reached the door, and Craig nodded. Stan stepped into the kitchen and walked as delicately as he could to the door, pressing his ear against it for the sound of his father. Craig smiled at him and followed his lead, blinking a few times as the voice became intelligible.

“ _A little sister_?” A voice asked.

Stan furrowed his brows and whispered, “that’s Father Maxi” to Craig, who rolled his eyes.

“I know who it is.”

“ _Yeah. And an older brother_.”

“That’s McCormick,” Craig whispered to Stan. Stan flipped him off. He couldn’t actually recognize a prisoner by voice, but he had heard his father muttering about Kenny McCormick (usually referring to him simply as “13”) enough that he felt he should recognize the voice. Kenny sounded incredibly agitated in response to Father Maxi’s soft voice.

“ _They must want you home very badly. Did they visit you today?”_

_“No. Karen wrote to say that she’d come after school.”_

_“It’s very sweet that she’s written you.”_

_“Yeah. Very. Can you tell the guards to stop reading my letters aloud? I’m, like, positive that’s illegal.”_

_“Law can be a fickle thing.”_

_“What does that mean? It shouldn’t be!”_

Stan glanced at Craig surreptitiously. His eyebrows had come together, and he had a strange, pinched look on his face. Stan reached out to touch his arm questioningly, but Craig just shushed him.

Father Maxi sighed. “ _Son, what are you doing to get out of here?”_

There was a pause. “ _Waiting until the fourteen days are up?”_

Now it was Father Maxi’s turn to pause. “ _Indeed.”_

 _“What are other people doing to get out of here?”_ Stan thought he could catch some nervousness in Kenny’s voice.

“ _Well, some prisoners have collaborated with the guards.”_

_“Rats.”_

Father Maxi cleared his throat. “ _Other inmates formed a Grievances Committee to interact with the guards in a more peaceful, rational way.”_ There was a loaded silence. “ _Do you think there’s more you could be doing to earn your freedom?”_

_“I have my freedom.”_

_“You seem like a very clever boy, Kenny.”_

_“I don’t play mind games.”_

They were quiet for a second. “ _Son, this isn’t a mind game. You’re in prison. I know your family may not be able to afford a lawyer, but you could hire a public defender. It might be the only way.”_ Craig gritted his teeth in annoyance, and Stan’s eyes widened.

_“It isn’t.”_

_“Some of the other boys have asked that we contact their parents for legal counsel. A Mr. Broflovski has offered to come consult with prisoners in a matter of days if you would like to sign up.”_

The silence lasted until Craig had time to pull back from the door and stare at it in puzzlement. Stan shifted uncomfortably from foot-to-foot, keeping his eyes averted from Craig’s guiltily. He had no idea what was going on, but it seemed like his dad was validating all of Craig’s fears.

“ _I don’t need this. Bring me back to the cells.”_

_“We’re just trying to help you, son.”_

_“No. You’re trying to get inside my head. I’m going back to prison.”_ Kenny sounded shaky. Stan wished he could run in there and tell him to sound more sure of himself, but at least his rational side was still winning.

_“Very well. Legal help will always be available upon request. Trent, please escort him back.”_

_“Tell Randy that the only one buying into his mind games is him for me, okay?”_ An impressed look passed over Craig’s face.

_“I’ll be sure to pass along the message.”_

There was shuffling behind the door, then Stan could hear footsteps entering the room. “ _What the fuck was that?”_ Randy cried. “ _He was supposed to hire a goddamn lawyer! All the other ones asked for lawyers!”_

_“He seems very strong-willed.”_

_“I got that much! How’s he ever going to earn his freedom?”_

_“Well, he was technically correct. He leaves when the experiment is over.”_

_“I know that, stupid!”_

_“There’s nine more days left for him to accept his role.”_

_“Nine days. Right.”_

_“Randy, I was wondering if you might consider talking to someone about this experiment.”_

_“I talk to lots of people! You seem to forget I’m a world famous psychologist!”_

Craig turned away from the door with a grimace on his face. He jerked his head for Stan to follow him outside, and he had a cigarette between his lips before he stepped through the door. Stan reached a trembling hand out, and Craig lit a second cigarette in his mouth and passed it to him.

“Did you get any of that?” Stan asked after they’d smoked in silence for awhile. Craig’s brain looked like it was whirring to much to be interrupted.

He looked up in surprise. “Didn’t you?”

“He seemed fine?” Stan wished he didn’t sound to eager for Craig’s approval.

Craig frowned. “Of course _he_ seems fine. McCormick is… a special case. We didn’t hear any of the other ones talk.”

“So we should have stayed inside?”

Craig looked at him disparagingly. “I needed a smoke. We’ll go back.” He rubbed his jaw with his free hand. “He said all the other ones asked for legal counsel.”

“That’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad? They don’t _need_ legal counsel! They’re free people in a psychological study for fuck’s sake! Most study volunteers pick out what color they like best after looking at a fat person or something!”

“They’re being paid more than those other participants.”

Craig tightened his jaw and resumed smoking the cigarette with a dark look on his face. “You don’t get it.”

“I said I didn’t!” Stan felt a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach at what seemed like an overreaction from Craig. Yes, it was bad of his father to lie and fuck with their brains, but they were getting what they signed up for. His dad wasn’t being that unethical. He was just kind of stupid.

Craig rolled his eyes. “You’re just as dumb as your fucked up father, Marsh. They believe they’re _prisoners_.”

“That was, you know, the point?”

He took a long drag on his cigarette. “I’d recommend not defending Randy so much. You seemed like you were going to get through this study.”

“I just don’t think it’s that bad! Kyle said everyone besides that Tweek kid was doing fine.”

“Broflovski is to be trusted, that’s for sure,” Craig responded sarcastically.

“Kyle’s fine!”

Craig narrowed his eyes. “If it were up to Kyle, Tweek would have been trapped here. I’m not going to deal with you if you’re going to start acting like all of them.”

“Dealing with me? I barely know you!”

Craig watched him inscrutably. “That’s right. You don’t.” He put out his cigarette. “Let’s go back inside.”

Stan sputtered in bewilderment. “I’m not going to help you spy on my dad!”

Craig shrugged. “Well, then I’m going. Thanks ever so, Marsh.”

He spun on his heel and walked away, leaving Stan to stare sulkily at his feet. He felt the need to shout after Craig that his pun wasn’t even good, but that would be a lie. It was good. Instead, Stan settled for walking after him quickly. “I’m not becoming my dad!”

Craig laughed sharply. “No, you’re your own kind of beast. Relax, Marsh. Your virtue isn’t being called into question.” Stan stared at him, and he smiled. “Just your intelligence.”

“Stop acting like you know something the rest of us don’t! My dad said that you fucking hosed down the prisoners with a fire extinguisher. You’re not the… the ethics police! You’re just an asshole.”

Craig grinned. “I never said I cared because of ethics.”

“Why _do_ you care?”

“Oh, lots of reasons.”

Stan threw up his hands, his cigarette flying into the air at the sudden movement. “You’re fucking impossible.”

Craig opened his mouth to respond then shut it abruptly. Voices were coming from in front of the garage. Stan strained his ears to hear, following Craig as he took a few steps around the side of the building. This dude had some serious privacy issues.

“ _My parents were called that it’s – agh! – visiting day.”_

 _“Oh. Oh, no. You sure don’t want to be here, Tweek.”_ Craig’s eyes widened. “ _Mr. Marsh is real sore at you for the escape plot an’ all.”_

_“Escape plot? What? Jesus Christ!”_

_“Well, no reason to worry about it. Just go back home.”_

_“I want to see Kenny.”_

_“Kenny will be happier if you stay away. He wanted you to leave. Oh! I didn’t mean it like that! He’s just real happy that you’re free is all!”_

Craig grabbed Stan’s arm and stormed around the side of the building. Stan had been getting pretty sick of eavesdropping on people anyway. In front of the garage, Stan recognized Butters attempting to block the entire sliding door from a boy wearing a head scarf over his bald head that made him look unfortunately similar to a cancer patient. “Nice scarf,” Craig spat in a rougher voice than he’d ever used on Stan.

“Craig! Shit!”

Craig looked a little perturbed. This must be the inmate that he’d freed. Tweek. “Butters is right. You should get out of here.”

Tweek looked angry. “I’m allowed to visit Kenny.”

“’Allowed to’. You sound just like McCormick. Tweek, you want to leave, okay? Count yourself lucky that Butters is the one doing admission.”

Tweek looked at Butters nervously. “What? Why?”

Craig grinned nastily. “Because we’re all under orders to take you to Randy if you try to visit.”

“That’s not allowed!”

“Why do you think your parents got a call even after you quit, then?” Craig asked defiantly. “It’s not like there are enough people for company oversight here.”

Tweek looked at Butters doubtingly, but Butters nodded. “We were told to bring ya to Randy, Tweek. Why’d you gotta make an escape plot? You got Kenny in a lotta trouble too!”

Tweek shook his head rapidly. “What escape plot? This is the first time I’ve left my bed!” Stan winced.

“McCormick and Rodriguez made a phony escape plot to piss off this one’s dad,” Craig said blankly with a jerk of his head in Stan’s direction. “He moved out all the inmates, and he’s pissed.”

Tweek twitched. “How does that involve me?”

“They said you were going to show up with friends,” Craig reported with a grin.

Butters was looking at Craig with a curious expression on his face. “You said they made it up?”

Craig looked at him with pure deadpan. “Well, did it happen, Butters?”

“I thought Tweek had just let them down,” Butters mumbled.

“I wouldn’t let them down!”

Craig smiled. “I thought this was the first time you left your bed?”

Tweek glared at him. “I would have left it yesterday if I _had_ to.”

“I’m sure. You looked terrific when you left.”

Craig stiffened at the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, and he grabbed Tweek by the arm to pull him to the side of garage before Kyle Broflovski appeared upstairs. The little girl that Stan recognized vaguely as the girl from Kenny’s arrest trailed after him. Stan watched Craig and Tweek for a second, but Craig was still holding Tweek’s arm and whispering something furiously to him as Tweek’s eyes widened.

“This should be our last visitor, Butters.”

Butters nodded. “Got it, Kyle! Did you have a good time, Karen?” He asked the girl sweetly. She peered at him with only the smallest trace of distrust, and Stan suddenly understood why Butters had been the guard chosen to meet visitors.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “You should let them sleep.”

“We do let them sleep, Karen!” Butters said cheerfully.

Kyle touched her shoulder. “What’s the matter with your brother? Doesn’t he sleep well?”

Karen glared at Kyle reproachfully then averted her eyes respectfully. “I’m… sorry. He doesn’t usually look so tired.”

“He’ll be fine.” She stared at Kyle as if she was sizing him up for a second then scoffed and stormed out of the garage. Kyle watched her go with a bemused expression on his face. “I see the family resemblance,” he said finally. He looked at Stan and nodded. “Stan. What’s up?”

Stan shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. His eyes flickered to the side of the garage again where Craig and Tweek had already disappeared. For a second, part of him was jealous of the participants. From the ones he had seen, there seemed to be a good relationship between the guards and prisoners. Yeah, they didn’t look that happy when they were doing “manual labor” in the backyard, but Craig, Butters and Kyle were all cool. Kenny seemed like he had his shit together.

“It was… there were visitors today? Down there?” Stan asked in disbelief. It was _horrible_ down there.

Kyle looked annoyed. “We had to dismantle all the cells and clean it up. Speaking of, Butters, we’ve got to get back downstairs to set up again.”

Butters stuck out his bottom lip. “Why’s our shift gotta do it?”

“Because we’re the ones who are working right now. Come on.”

Butters waved at Stan, and Kyle gave him another nod as they disappeared down the stairs.

Stan stood at the top of the stairs for a second, willing himself to go down there. He could hear chains creaking and guards shouting from up here. How much worse could it be down there than up here?

“You don’t want to go down there,” Craig’s voice sounded from behind him. Stan glanced back at the doorway to see Craig, silhouetted by the sun, watching him with a distant smile.

“Why not? Where’s Tweek?”

“Tweek went home. And I just know you don’t want to. I was making an observation.”

Stan rubbed his arm. “It sounded like a warning. You know, if my dad told you to bring Tweek to him-.”

“I should have _done it_?” Craig sounded shriller than Stan remembered. Tweek seemed to bring out a lot of new voices. “That’s the most illegal thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I’ve heard more illegal.”

Craig looked at him blankly for a second then smiled. He had also smiled more today than Stan had ever remembered. Granted, he didn’t interact with the guards very often, but Craig caught the eye. For whatever reason. Stan wasn’t very impressed anymore.

“What did you tell Tweek?”

Craig’s smile faltered. “I told him to leave. You were there.”

“I mean when it was just you two.”

His eyes flicked down at the ground then back to Stan. “I told him the truth.”

Stan shivered involuntarily. “Why won’t you tell me the truth, then?”

Craig grinned again. “Token seems too good to be true, right?” He asked, changing the subject. “Great kid. He’s rich, too – ever wonder why he’d sign up for this experiment?”

Stan’s mouth stretched into a thin line. “I don’t really know him,” he grunted.

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Craig looked at his fingernails in a disaffected way. “He left an internship at _The Denver Post_ for this. I can’t believe they’d let him leave for two weeks.”

Stan stood frozen for a second, letting the implications of what Craig had said wash over him. “You think Token’s in this undercover?”

Craig smirked. “Of course you would make it sound that dramatic. And, no, I’m not trying to hint at anything. I’m just pointing out logical inconsistencies in this experiment.”

Stan paled. “Are you part of this? Is that why you’re telling me?”

He shrugged. “It’d sure be cool to have a job not as a prison guard, wouldn’t it?” Stan was getting pretty sick of him speaking in questions. This wasn’t the time to act like Socrates. Stan might have just helped a reporter spy on his father, and he wanted to know what was going on.

“My dad will kick you out.”

Craig raised an eyebrow. “Would you tell him?”

“I should!”

Craig sounded fed up when he finally spoke. “Do you know what the goal of this study is?” He didn’t wait for Stan to try to answer his question this time. “There is none. Eric Cartman is manipulating your dad into bringing out the worst in people to prove he’s innocent. This is not a scientific study. This is a court case defense. Your dad can’t tell me what the _independent variable_ is. Do you have any idea how fucked up that is?”

Stan frowned, racking his brain for an answer to Craig’s question. “Isn’t it just… guard or prisoner?”

Craig rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter if there _is_ one. He’s not even thinking about this as an experiment! If that’s seriously the only issue you took away from that, I should give up.”

He turned away, and Stan stepped forward inexplicably. “Okay. Okay. I get it. Eric Cartman is bad. I… forgot about him.”

Craig turned back reluctantly. “Yeah, everyone did.”

Stan and Craig stared at each other for a long time as the severity of what Craig said sunk in. “So, what are you going to do?”

Craig almost looked sympathetic. “Probably get your dad thrown in prison.”

Stan’s eyes widened. “I thought you were a reporter?”

“And my report will get your dad thrown in prison,” Craig agreed. “I’m sorry it had to happen like this, Marsh. On the bright side, Eric Cartman will probably go with him.”

Stan stared at Craig with an expression of abject terror. He hadn’t realized that was what his father was facing. Stan was expecting an end to the study and blackballing from further psychological pursuits. Craig, after a minute, waved a hand in front of Stan’s face and shrugged. “I’m going to go. I have an early shift tomorrow. Call me if you plan on ratting me out.”

Stan opened and shut his mouth. He wasn’t a _rat_. He couldn’t tell on Craig. He just had to stop his dad from digging this hole any deeper. The experiment had to end.

Stan felt like he was walking through a nightmare the rest of the day. His mom served dinner to the family like they hadn’t had Father Maxi and all the inmates in that room earlier in the day. Randy talked less and drank more than usual, and he responded to his family in harshly snapped one word answers most of the time.

Randy had never been the most together of all the fathers at Stan’s school growing up. He hadn’t even _not_ gone insane before. Stan still had vivid childhood memories of his dad buying a Blockbuster Video and steadily going mad trapped inside it. If memory served, Randy had tried to kill him.

So, really, Stan justified it to himself that this really wasn’t any worse than his dad buying a Blockbuster Video.


End file.
